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7 _/. 






SEA STORIES 


GEOGRAPHICAL STORIES 

RETOLD FROM ^ 

ST. NICHOLAS MAGAZINE 

IN SIX VOLUMES 

A Series of Books of Adventure, Travel and De- 
scription, chiefly in the Great Sections 
of the United States 

¥ 

WESTERN FRONTIER STORIES 

Stories of the early West, full of adventure. 

STORIES OF THE GREAT LAKES 

Niagara and our great chain of Inland Seas. 

ISLAND STORIES 

Stories of our island dependencies and 
of many other islands. 

STORIES OF STRANGE SIGHTS 

Descriptions of natural wonders, curious 
places and unusual sights. 

SEA STORIES 

Tales of shipwreck and adventures at sea. 

SOUTHERN STORIES 

Pictures, scenes and stories of our Sunny 
South. 

Each about 200 pages. 50 illustrations. 

Full cloth, 12mo. 

THE CENTURY CO. 


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THE “flying Dutchman” 





«SEA STORIES* 

RETOLD FROM ST. NICHOLAS 



NEW YORK 
THE CENTURY CO. 
1907 


LfSHARYof CONGRESS 
Two OoDle? Received 


SEP 13 »90r 



Copyright, 1890, 1892, 1893, 1897, 1898, 
1899, 1900, 1902, 1903, 1904, 1907 by 
The Century Co. 





THE DE VINNE PRESS 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

The “Flying Dutchman” Frontispiece 

■ To Repel Boarders Jack London 3 

What is Told by the Bell 17 

Lieutenant John M. Ellicott, U. S. N. 

The Bell-Buoy’s Story John Weatherby 27 

A Song of the Sea Eric Parker 47 

My Narrowest Escape George Kennan 48 

The Cautious Captain Rudolph F. Bunner 64 

Steering Without a Compass . . . Gustav Kobbe 65 

A Tale OF Piracy Malcolm Douglas 77 

The Lights that Guide in the Night 86 

Lieutenant John M. Ellicott, U. S. N. 


VI 


CONTENTS 


When My Ship Comes In . . 

PAGE 

Mary J. Farrah^ LL.A. 104 

A Change of Craft .... 


Tom Trawley’s Start in Life 

. . W. J. Henderson 125 

A Citizen of the Deep . . 

, . Lida Rose McCabe 1 54 

Great Ocean Waves . . . 

. . W. J. Henderson 163 

Three Ships 



The Voyage OF THE “ Oregon ” .... Tudor Jenks 182 


/ / 


SEA STORIES 


T he sea ! the sea ! the open sea, 

The blue, the fresh, the ever free ! 
Without a mark, without a bound. 

It runneth the earth’s wide regions round. 

It plays with the clouds ; it mocks the skies ; 
Or like a cradled creature lies. 

I never was on the dull, tame shore 
But I loved the great sea more and more. 
And backward flew to her billowy breast. 
Like a bird that seeketh its mother’s nest ; 
And a mother she was, and is to me ; 

For I was born on the open sea ! 

Barry Cornwall, 


SEA STORIES 


TO REPEL BOARDERS 

BY JACK LONDON 

N O ; honest, now, Bob, I ’m sure I was born too 
late. The twentieth century ’s no place for 
me. If I 'd had my way—'' 

‘^You 'd have been born in the sixteenth," I 
broke in, laughing, ^^with Drake and Hawkins 
and Raleigh and the rest of the sea-kings." 

‘^You 're right !" Paul affirmed. He rolled over 
upon his back on the little after-deck, with a long 
sigh of dissatisfaction. 

It was a little past midnight, and, with the wind 
nearly astern, we were running down Lower San 
Francisco Bay to Bay Farm Island. Paul Fair- 
fax and I went to the same school, lived next door 
to each other, and '‘chummed it" together. By 
saving money, by earning more, and by each of 


4 


SEA STORIES 


us foregoing a bicycle on his birthday, we had 
collected the purchase-price of the ^'Mist,” a 
beamy twenty-eight-footer, sloop-rigged, with 
baby topsail and centerboard. Paul's father was 
a yachtsman himself, and he had conducted the 
business for us, poking around, overhauling, 
sticking his penknife into the timbers, and testing 
the planks with the greatest care. In fact, it was 
on his schooner the ''Whim" that Paul and I had 
picked up what we knew about boat-sailing, and 
now that the Mist was ours, we were hard at 
work adding to our knowledge. 

The Mist, being broad of beam, was comfort- 
able and roomy. A man could stand upright in 
the cabin, and what with the stove, cooking-uten- 
sils, and bunks, we were good for trips in her of 
a week at a time. And we were just starting out 
on the first of such trips, and it was because it 
was the first trip that we were sailing by night. 
Early in the evening we had beaten out from 
Oakland, and we were now off the mouth of Ala- 
meda Creek, a large salt-water estuary which fills 
and empties San Leandro Bay. 

"Men lived in those days," Paul said, so sud- 
denly as to startle me from my own thoughts. 
"In the days of the sea-kings, I mean," he ex- 
plained. 


TO REPEL BOARDERS 


5 


I said ‘"Oh!” sympathetically, and began to 
whistle ^^Captain Kidd/' 

“Now, I Ve my ideas about things," Paul went 
on. “They talk about romance and adventure 
and all that, but I say romance and adventure are 
dead. We 're too civilized. We don't have ad- 
ventures in the twentieth century. We go to the 
circus—" 

“But—" I strove to interrupt, though he would 
not listen to me. 

“You look here. Bob," he said. “In all the time 
you and I 've gone together what adventures have 
we had? True, we were out in the hills once, and 
did n't get back till late at night, and we were 
good and hungry, but we were n't even lost. We 
knew where we were all the time. It was only a 
case of walk. What I mean is, we 've never had 
to fight for our lives. Understand? We 've 
never had a pistol fired at us, or a cannon, or a 
sword waving over our heads, or— or anything. 

“You 'd better slack away three or four feet of 
that main-sheet," he said in a hopeless sort of 
way, as though it did not matter much anyway. 
“The wind 's still veering around. 

“Why, in the old times the sea was one con- 
stant glorious adventure," he continued. “A boy 


6 


SEA STORIES 


left school and became a midshipman, and in a 
few weeks was cruising after Spanish galleons 
or locking yard-arms with a French privateer, or 
—doing lots of things/’ 

“Well,— there are adventures to-day,” I ob- 
jected. 

But Paul went on as though I had not spoken : 

“And to-day we go from school to high school, 
and from high school to college, and then we go 
into the office or become doctors and things, and 
the only adventures we know about are the ones 
we read in books. Why, just as sure as I ’m 
sitting here on the stern of the sloop Mist, just 
so sure am I that we would n’t know what to do 
if a real adventure came along. Now, would 
we?” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” I answered non-commit- 
tally. 

“Well, you would n’t be a coward, would you?” 
he demanded. 

I was sure I would n’t, and said so. 

“But you don’t have to be a coward to lose your 
head, do you?” 

I agreed that brave men might get excited. 

“Well, then,” Paul summed up, with a note of 
regret in his voice, “the chances are that we ’d 


TO REPEL BOARDERS 


7 

spoil the adventure. So it a shame, and that 's 
all I can say about it.’^ 

“The adventure has nT come yet,’’ I answered, 
not caring to see him down in the mouth over 
nothing. You see, Paul was a peculiar fellow in 
some things, and I knew him pretty well. He 
read a good deal, and had a quick imagination, 
and once in a while he ’d get into moods like this 
one. So I said, “The adventure has n’t come yet, 
so there ’s no use worrying about its being 
spoiled. For all we know, it might turn out 
splendidly.” 

Paul did n’t say anything for some time, and I 
was thinking he was out of the mood, when he 
spoke up suddenly: 

“Just imagine, Bob Kellogg, as we ’re sailing 
along now, just as we are, and never mind what 
for, that a boat should bear down upon us with 
armed men in it, what would you do to repel 
boarders ? Think you could rise to it ?” 

“What would you do?” I asked pointedly. 
“Remember, we have n’t even a single shot-gun 
aboard.” 

“You would surrender, then?” he demanded 
angrily. “But suppose they were going to kill 
you ?” 


8 


SEA STORIES 


‘‘I ’m not saying what I ’d do/’ I answered 
stiffly, beginning to get a little angry myself. 
‘T ’m asking what you ’d do, without weapons of 
any sort?” 

‘T ’d find something,” he replied — rather 
shortly, I thought. 

I began to chuckle. 'Then the adventure 
would n’t be spoiled, would it ? And you ’ve been 
talking rubbish.” 

Paul struck a match, looked at his watch, and 
remarked that it was nearly one o’clock— a way 
he had when the argument went against him. 
Besides, this was the nearest we ever came to 
quarreling now, though our share of squabbles 
had fallen to us in the earlier days of our friend- 
ship. I had just seen a little white light ahead 
when Paul spoke again. 

"Anchor-light,” he said. "Funny place for 
people to drop the hook. It may be a scow- 
schooner with a dinky astern, so you ’d better go 
wide.” 

I eased the Mist several points, and, the wind 
pufflng up, we went plowing along at a pretty 
fair speed, passing the light so wide that we could 
not make out what manner of craft it marked. 
Suddenly the Mist slacked up in a slow and easy 


TO REPEL BOARDERS 


9 


way, as though running upon soft mud. We 
were both startled. The wind was blowing 
stronger than ever, and yet we were almost at a 
standstill. 

“Mud-flats out here! Never heard of such a 
thing 

So Paul exclaimed with a snort of unbelief, 
and, seizing an oar, shoved it down over the side. 
And straight down it went till the water wet his 
hand. There was no bottom! Then we were 
dumfounded. The wind was whistling by, and 
still the Mist was moving ahead at a snail’s pace. 
There seemed something dead about her, and it 
was all I could do at the tiller to keep her from 
swinging up into the wind. 

“Listen!” I laid my hand on Paul’s arm. We 
could hear the sound of rowlocks, and saw the lit- 
tle white light bobbing up and down and now very 
close to us. “There ’s your armed boat,” I whis- 
pered in fun. “Beat the crew to quarters and 
stand by to repel boarders !” 

We both laughed, and were still laughing when 
a wild scream of rage came out of the darkness, 
and the approaching boat shot under our stern. 
By the light of the lantern it carried we could see 


lO 


SEA STORIES 


the two men in it distinctly. They were foreign- 
looking fellows with sun-bronzed faces, and with 
knitted tam-o'-shanters perched seaman-fashion 
on their heads. Bright-colored woolen sashes 
were around their waists, and long sea-boots 
covered their legs. I remember yet the cold chill 
which passed along my backbone as I noted the 
tiny gold ear-rings in the ears of one. For all 
the world they were like pirates stepped out of the 
pages of romance. And, to make the picture com- 
plete, their faces were distorted with anger, and 
each flourished a long knife. They were both 
shouting, in high-pitched voices, some foreign 
jargon we could not understand. 

One of them, the smaller of the two, and if any- 
thing the more vicious-looking, put his hands on 
the rail of the Mist and started to come aboard. 
Quick as a flash Paul placed the end of the oar 
against the man's chest and shoved him back into 
his boat. He fell in a heap, but scrambled to his 
feet, waving the knife and shrieking: 

''You break-a my net-a! You break-a my 
net-a !" 

And he held forth in the jargon again, his com- 
panion joining him, and both preparing to make 
another dash to come aboard the Mist. 


TO REPEL BOARDERS 


II 


'They Ve Italian fishermen/' I cried, the facts 
of the case breaking in upon me. "We 've run 
over their smelt-net, and it 's slipped along the 
keel and fouled our rudder. We 're anchored to 
it." 

"Yes, and they 're murderous chaps, too," Paul 
said, sparring at them with the oar to make them 
keep their distance. 

"Say, you fellows!" he called to them. "Give 
us a chance and we 'll get it clear for you! We 
did n't know your net was there. We did n't 
mean to do it, you know!" 

"You won't lose anything!" I added. "We 'll 
pay the damages !" 

But they could not understand what we were 
saying, or did not care to understand. 

"You break-a my net-a! You break-a my 
net-a!" the smaller man, the one with the ear- 
rings, screamed back, making furious gestures. 
"I fix-a you! You-a see, I fix-a you!" 

This time, when Paul thrust him back, he 
seized the oar in his hands, and his companion 
jumped aboard. I put my back against the tiller, 
and no sooner had he landed, and before he had 
caught his balance, than I met him with another 
oar, and he fell heavily backward into the boat. 


12 


SEA STORIES 


It was getting serious, and when he arose and 
caught my oar, and I realized his strength, I con- 
fess that I felt a goodly tinge of fear. But though 
he was stronger than I, instead of dragging me 
overboard when he wrenched on the oar, he 
merely pulled his boat in closer; and when I 
shoved, the boat was forced away. Besides, the 
knife, still in his right hand, made him awkward 
and somewhat counterbalanced the advantage his 
superior strength gave him. Paul and his enemy 
were in the same situation— a sort of deadlock, 
which continued for several seconds, but which 
could not last. Several times I shouted that we 
would pay for whatever damage their net had 
suffered, but my words seemed to be without 
effect. 

Then my man began to tuck the oar under his 
arm, and to come up along it, slowly, hand over 
hand. The small man did the same with Paul. 
Moment by moment they came closer and closer, 
and we knew that the end was only a question of 
time. 

''Hard up. Bob!” Paul called softly to me. 

I gave him a quick glance, and caught an in- 
stant’s glimpse of what I took to be a very pale 
face and a very set jaw. 





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MOMENT BY MOMENT THEY CAME CLOSER 




TO REPEL BOARDERS 


15 


“Oh, Bob,’’ he pleaded, “hard up your helm! 
Hard up your helm. Bob !” 

And his meaning dawned upon me. Still hold- 
ing to my end of the oar, I shoved the tiller over 
with my back, and even bent my body to keep it 
over. As it was the Mist was nearly dead before 
the wind, and this manoeuver was bound to force 
her to jibe her mainsail from one side to the other. 
I could tell by the “feel” when the wind spilled 
out of the canvas and the boom tilted up. Paul’s 
man had now gained a footing on the little deck, 
and my man was just scrambling up. 

“Look out!” I shouted to Paul. “Here she 
comes !” 

Both he and I let go the oars and tumbled into 
the cockpit.. The next instant the big boom and 
the heavy blocks swept over our heads, the main- 
sheet whipping past like a great coiling snake and 
the Mist heeling over with a violent jar. Both 
men had jumped for it, but in some way the little 
man either got his knife-hand jammed or fell 
upon it, for the first sight we caught of him, he 
was standing in his boat, his bleeding fingers 
clasped close between his knees and his face all 
twisted with pain and helpless rage. 

“Now ’s our chance!” Paul whispered. “Over 
with you!” 


i6 


SEA STORIES 


And on either side of the rudder we lowered 
ourselves into the water, pressing the net down 
with our feet, till, with a jerk, it went clear. Then 
it was up and in, Paul at the main-sheet and I at 
the tiller, the Mist plunging ahead with freedom 
in her motion, and the little white light astern 
growing small and smaller. 

‘'Now that you Ve had your adventure, do you 
feel any better?’’ I remember asking when we 
had changed our clothes and were sitting dry and 
comfortable again in the cockpit. 

“Well, if I don’t have the nightmare for a week 
to come”— Paul paused and puckered his brows 
in judicial fashion— “it will be because I can’t 
sleep, that ’s one thing sure !” 


WHAT IS TOLD BY THE BELL 


BY LIEUTENANT JOHN M. ELLICOTT, U. S. N. 

OTHING in a ship becomes so closely iden- 



1 M tified with her throughout her whole career 
as the ship’s bell. Officers and crew come and go; 
masts, decks, engines, and boilers become old, and 
are replaced by new ones ; but from the day that 
she first glides into the water the same ship’s bell 
remains always a part of her, marking her prog- 
ress all over the world, and finally going down 
with her to a lonely grave at the bottom of the 
sea, or surviving her as a cherished souvenir of 
her existence and achievements. On a man-of- 
war the bell is usually inscribed with her name 
and the date of her launching; and as it is prob- 
able that it may some day become a memento of a 
glorious history, the bell is often the subject of 
special care in casting or selection. Sometimes 
the hundreds of workmen who have built the 
great ship contribute each a silver coin to be 
melted and molded into a bell which shall be the 
token of their love for the object of their creation 


17 


i8 


SEA STORIES 


and their interest in her future career. Often the 
people of the city or State after which a man-of- 
war is named may present to her a magnificent 
bell appropriately ornamented and inscribed with 
words of good-will and good wishes. Such a bell 
is usually presented with ceremony after the ship 
goes into commission. 

Ships’ bells in general are made of bronze, like 
other bells. The addition of silver in their com- 
position gives them a peculiarly clear and musical 
tone. They are placed in such a position on the 
upper deck that they may be heard from one end 
of the ship to the other ; and are usually near the 
mainmast or at the break of the forecastle. One 
peculiarity exists in a ship’s bell which is neces- 
sary on account of her motion at sea. The tongue 
is hung so that it can swing in only one direction. 
If it were not so the bell would be continually 
ringing as the ship rolled and pitched. The direc- 
tion in which the tongue can swing is another 
important point. If it were athwartships the bell 
would ring at every heavy roll of the ship; and 
if it were fore and aft the bell would ring at every 
deep pitch; so the direction in which the tongue 
can swing is nearly half-way around between 
these two. 


WHAT IS TOLD BY THE BELL 


19 


The ship's bell is the regulator of all her daily 
routine. It rings out to her officers and crew that 
the time has come for them to do certain things. 
It tells when it is time to make the ship tidy for 
inspection, and when it is time to go to drills; it 
tells the navigator when to take his sights, and 
the watch-officers when to go on watch; it tells 
the portion of the crew below decks when to come 
on deck, and those on deck when they may go 
below to rest or sleep. It is struck by hand when- 
ever the ship's clock marks the hour or half-hour ; 
but it is struck in a peculiar way. 

On board ship the twenty-four hours of the 
day are divided up into periods of four hours 
each, called watches. Beginning at eight o'clock 
in the evening, the four hours from then till mid- 
night make the tirst watch; the four from mid- 
night until four o'clock in the morning make the 
mid-watch; the four from four until eight o'clock 
in the morning make the morning zvatch; the four 
from eight o'clock in the morning until noon 
make the forenoon watch; the four from noon 
until four o'clock in the afternoon make the after- ^ 
noon watch; and the four from then till eight in 
the evening make the dog-watches. 

The crew of a ship is usually divided into two 

2 


20 


SEA STORIES 


parts, also called watches; and at sea one watch 
is on deck and on duty for four hours while the 
other is below, resting or sleeping. At the end of 
four hours they exchange places. They are 
named for distinction the starboard watch and 
the port watch. When not at sea all hands are 
on deck, and each watch does the work during the 
day on its own side of the ship, except a few 
special men who stand in watches as at sea. 

You can easily see that, since there are six 
watch periods in a day and two watches of men, 
the same men would have the same period of 
watch every day. This is prevented by dividing 
the watch from four in the afternoon to eight into 
two equal parts called the first dog-watch and the 
second dog-watch. That makes an odd number 
of watches in each day, and changes the rotation 
for the men. 

The day being divided into watches, the strokes 
of the bell tell off the hours and half-hours of the 
watches. Thus at the end of the first half-fiour 
of the watch the bell is struck once, at the end of 
the full hour twice, at the end of the next half- 
hour three times, and so on until at the end of the 
fourth hour it is struck eight times. Then it be- 
gins over again for the next watch. You will 


WHAT IS TOLD BY THE BELL 


21 


notice that all the odd numbers of strokes are on 
half-hours, and all the even numbers on the hours. 
If you ask a sailorman on board what time it is, 
he will not tell you in hours and minutes, but in 
bells. Thus if he says, ‘Tt has gone seven bells, 
sir,’^ you will be pretty sure to know what portion 
of the day it is in, and can tell at once whether he 
means half-past eleven, half-past three, or half- 
past seven. The bells are struck from one to 
eight through the dog-watches, the same as in 
any other watch. 

On a war-ship the bell is struck by the messen- 
ger-boy of the officer on watch. He takes the 
clapper in his hand and makes the strokes in 
groups of two, struck quickly, with a slight pause 
between, and the odd bell, if it is a half-hour, is 
struck last. Thus five bells are struck ting-ting^ 
ting-ting, ting; six bells, ting-ting, ting-ting, 
ting-ting; and so forth. 

Only once a year do they strike more than eight 
bells on board ship, and that is at midnight on 
New Year’s Eve. When twelve o’clock is an- 
nounced that night the officer of the watch calls 
out, ''Strike eight bells !” then, "Strike eight more 
for the new year !” Sixteen bells then ring out in 
loud vibration, arousing every soul by their unu- 


22 


SEA STORIES 


sual number, and announcing to everybody, from 
the captain down to the ship’s cook, that the old 
year is gone and they have entered upon a new 
year. 

The ship’s bell is sometimes used for other than 
routine purposes. When a ship is lying at anchor 
in a fog the bell is struck frequently as a warning 
of her presence, so that vessels under way may 
hear, and keep clear of her. On a man-of-war 
three strokes each time are given, the odd stroke 
being made first in order to make the ringing dif- 
ferent from the third half-hour of the watch. 
Thus the fog-bell of a war-vessel rings out ting, 
ting-ting every two or three minutes while the 
fog lasts. Merchant vessels simply ring the bell 
rapidly five or six times, then stop, then ring the 
same way again after a few minutes’ pause; but 
on board of a man-of-war this would mean 
'Tire!” and would bring her whole crew rushing 
on deck, leading out hose, grabbing buckets, and 
starting pumps. This fire-signal is rung on our 
naval vessels at least once a week for drill, and 
all the officers and men have regular stations at 
hose and pumps, to which they go as fast as they 
can, and start streams of water flowing just as if 
there were a real fire. In these drills officers’ 


WHAT IS TOLD BY THE BELL 


23 


servants usually form a line with buckets to take 
water from a deck-pump and throw it on the fire. 
Of course when there is no real fire the streams 
from the hose are pointed over the side, and the 
buckets are passed along and emptied overboard. 

On a certain man-of-war on the Pacific station 
a few years ago the officers had Chinese servants ; 
and although they could scarcely speak a word of 
English, they were quick to learn what was shown 
to them, and soon did like clockwork the fire-drill 
with buckets. One day there was a real fire. 
Volumes of smoke poured up from the fore hold, 
and it took several streams of water nearly an 
hour to put out the flames. When the fire was 
under control some one thought of the Chinamen ; 
and behold ! there they were, ranged in line and 
in plain sight of the smoking hatchway, rapidly 
passing their buckets along, but emptying them 
over the ship's side as they had been taught to do ! 

On Sundays when divine service is held on 
board a man-of-war the bell is tolled slowly, one 
tap at a time, before the service begins, to let the 
officers and men know that it is church-time. 
During the service a long white pennant on which 
is a blue cross is kept flying over the ship's flag. 


24 


SEA STORIES 


The bell is also tolled in the same way during 
burials at sea. 

Other bells which give information to those 
who navigate ships at sea are the fog-bells of 
lighthouses. Nearly every lighthouse has its fog- 
bell, so that when the coast is hidden by fog in the 
daytime, or the rays of the lighthouse lamp are 
shrouded by fog at night, the great bell is set go- 
ing by clockwork to ring out a warning to passing 
vessels and make them keep clear. Some light- 
houses have a big steam fog-horn instead of a 
fog-bell. When one of our men-of-war passes 
near a lighthouse in the daytime, its keeper strikes 
the fog-bell three times as a salute, and the man- 
of-war returns it by blowing three whistles. 

At the entrance to harbors there is often a buoy 
with a bell on top which rings incessantly with 
every lurch as the buoy is rocked by the waves, so 
that in a fog or in the darkness of the night ves- 
sels can find it by the sound, and then know that 
they are at the mouth of the channel which leads 
to a safe anchorage. 

Bells thus play an important part at sea. 


AT THE ENTRANCE TO HARBORS 



» 


/ 





BY JOHN WEATHERBY 


M aster photographer, as soon as 

you have finished taking all the snap-shots 
of me you care to, I wish you would come over 
here. I want to tell you something. You are the 
first boy who has visited this yard that has not 
scratched his name on my old weather-beaten 
sides or climbed along my railing and pounded 
rocks at my bell until my head fairly ached ; and I 
think all the more of you for it. I have grown to 
like boys, — that is, the right kind, — for you know 
I am a boy myself, although I do not spell my 
name just as you do. 

You must not think that because you find me 
here in this navy-yard scrap-heap, with other 
worn-out apparatus, that I am an ordinary buoy. 
I have been a proud spirit in my day, and I rent 
the shackles that bound me to a stupid berth down 


27 


28 


SEA STORIES 


the coast. I have been a rover, and have sailed 
the main as proudly as any vessel that floats— 
more, I have traveled whither I pleased, and no 
human hand guided my course. We roamed to- 
gether, the wind, and the waves, and I, and some 
friends we met by the way. I have seen better 
days, but I am tired and am resting, and now 
maybe they will let me end my days ashore. 

Come closer, little chap, for I like you and I 
will tell you my story. 

For a long time I had been lying on a -govern- 
ment dock, when, one morning, some men came 
and gave me a new coat of bright red. I felt very 
proud to have my fellows see me so gaily attired, 
but in a day or two they carried me off, and 
dropped me in the water, and towed me down the 
coast until we came to the southeastern shore of 
Florida. There they fastened a huge chain and 
anchor to me, and there they left me. I was sup- 
posed to warn seamen of a chain of dangerous 
rocks— “keys,’’ they call them— a little to the 
north of me. That, of course, would have been a 
useful enough occupation for any self-respecting 
buoy, but I soon found that I was wasting my 
energy in clanging away at my bell with nobody 




“ ‘lost off the banks! ’ I SAID TO MYSELF 





’ ''H -'3S 

.'t7| ^ 





;■ ‘ ■ . ? r- ■" 

. ' • >• ■ ■ 


’“ ‘'» *' -vIL™ 








THE BELL-BUOY’S STORY 


31 


but the waves and the gulls to hear me; for, be- 
lieve me, not more than a vessel or two came 
within sight or sound of me once in a month. 

I had often talked it over with the waves, and 
together we had agreed with the wind that I 
ought not any longer to bury myself in this way. 
If I could have been of any use I would not have 
cared. They promised their help. 

So in a few days the wind came hurrying down 
from the west, and a little later the waves came 
also, and the two of them tugged at me with all 
their might; but my anchor — one of that mush- 
room kind — by this time was buried deep in the 
sand. A few more tugs, however, and my chain 
parted and I was free. think of the joy! 

The wind and the waves kept me company until 
we reached the warm, swift-moving waters of the 
Gulf Stream, and there we parted. 

I thought to myself, ^'Now, maybe, I can see 
something of foreign waters’’; and as the Gulf 
Stream was going that way, I concluded to go 
too. 

We sailed along for a week or more, with very 
little adventure worth speaking of. One moon- 
light night, as I was bowling along at a comfort- 
able rate, I suddenly felt the chill of icy water. 


32 


SEA STORIES 


and the Gulf Stream told me we were meeting the 
cold Labrador Current, and that we must be near 
Nova Scotia, or more probably Newfoundland. 
I felt sure he was right when I saw a Canadian 
fishing-smack go by me. I seemed to provoke not 
a little interest, for the sailors peered at me as if 
they had never seen a bell-buoy before. I saw one 
of them go below, and in a moment reappear with 
a chart, which he spread out on the roof of the 
deck-house, while all hands studied it; and even 
after he had taken it back to the cabin, they kept 
talking me over and pointing at me until I was 
out of sight. Perhaps they thought I had no busi- 
ness there, just because they could not find me on 
their stupid old chart. But then, how were they 
to know that I was a free buoy and had left the 
service of Uncle Sam ? The Gulf Stream told me 
that whenever he meets the cold water of that arc- 
tic current a fog sets in that is 
almost as difficult to see 
through as a mainsail, and 
that it has caused the end of 
many a fair vessel and honest 
fisherman. 

I was nodding off to sleep that night when I 
heard a shout, and, peering through the mist, I 






4 


i 




' I 

V 



t 


9 







OVERHEARD AN OFFICER SAY THE OTHER DAY THAT THERE WAS A CHART UP IN WASHINGTON 
SOMEWHERE SHOWING THE COURSE THEY SUPPOSED I HAD TAKEN ” 



THE BELL-BUOY’S STORY 35 

saw a small boat, and as I drew nearer I saw that 
there were two men in it. 

‘^Lost off the Banks !” I said to myself. How 
often I had heard the waves tell of such things; 
but how real the thing seemed now, and how aw- 
ful ! They had probably rowed off from the fish- 
ing-vessel to draw a net ; and the fog had shut in 
on them and they had lost their bearings. Poor 
fellows ! They had heard my bell, and it reminded 
them of home — of the early morning bell in the 
little church of their Nova Scotian fishing-village; 
and those two lonely, lost fishermen, adrift on the 
broad Atlantic, at the sound of my 
tolling had bowed their heads in a 
prayer for help. How glad I would 
have been could I have helped them ! 

I moved along on the current of my good friend 
the Gulf Stream, when, a little after daylight, I 
suddenly felt something— indeed, it seemed as if 
there were fifty “somethings’" — grasp me all over 
my upper framework, and then climb up on my 
body until I was three fourths under water. I 
struggled to free myself, but it was of no use. 
Then I heard a panting voice say : “Let me rest a 
minute, whoever you are, and don’t let that big 
fellow get me.” 



36 


SEA STORIES 


By this time I had quite recovered from my sur- 
prise, and knew I was in the embrace of a huge 
cuttlefish. 

''What ’s the trouble?” I asked. 

"Trouble enough,” he said. "I have been 
chased by a greedy old whale until I was about 
ready to give up, when I saw you. I think I am 
safe here, for he won’t want to tackle you. You 
are tod much bone for his taste.” 

I let the old fellow rest awhile until he thought 
it was safe to go; and he swam away, the most 
grateful cuttlefish you ever saw. 

A few days later I had the greatest scare of my 
life. It was about six bells in the morning when 
I banged with tremendous force against a rock, 
as I thought; but in a moment I came to my 
senses, and saw before me a towering ice-wall 
that seemed to reach to the skies. And oo-oo-oo 
but the water was cold ! The shivers ran up my 
broken anchor-chain until they reached my bell, 
and shook it like a main pennant in a gale. I saw 
that the ice had been melting fast, and just as I 
was backing off, a loose mass from high above 
came toppling down, and landed squarely on my 
head. It hove me down until I thought I would 
never right again ; but I am a pretty strong buoy. 




I COULD NOT HELP PITYING HIM AS I THOUGHT OF THE MAJESTIC FELLOW 
DRIFTING UNCONSCIOUSLY TO HIS DOOM ” 



THE BELL-BUOY’S STORY 


39 


the engineers always said, — stronger, I imagine, 
than if I spelled my name as you do,— and I 
bounded back like those toys you boys have that 
always sit up straight, no matter how you lay 
them down. To this day I have felt strained in 
my upper frame from that shock. 

As the berg drifted away I looked off at him, 
and I could not help pitying him as I thought of 
the majestic fellow drifting unconsciously to his 
doom ; for I knew from the direction in which he 
was heading that the hot sun and the warm waters 
would soon put an end to him. 

- The next day I passed a swordfish, and I jan- 
gled my bell to attract his attention; but he was 
so busy chasing a school of mackerel that he 
would not stop. Perhaps he did not hear me. I 
was sorry, for I was a bit lonesome and would 
have enjoyed a chat. 

But I must nT dwell on the sad parts so much, 
for really, to tell the truth, I had the best kind of 
time, on the whole. 

A few days after I had left the iceberg I had 
an awfully funny experience. It did n’t seem so 
funny at the time as it has since I have thought it 
over. It was about four hours after sunrise, and 
I was bargaining with some sea-gulls, whom I 


40 


SEA STORIES 


wanted to clear my frame of a lot of seaweed, in 
return for which I was to let them ride on my 
back for the rest of that day, when I suddenly felt 
myself thrown high in the air, and as I looked 
down I saw beneath me the long, black body of a 
sperm-whale. 

I was so cross— no, mad: I am afraid I was 
downright mad— that I took no care as to where 
I should ''land’’ when I struck the water, and, as 
luck would have it, I came down ker-plunk right 
on the old fellow’s tail! The story got around 
somehow, and he was the laugh of the sea for 
miles about. I saw him several times after that, 
but he never forgave me, for he was lame for a 
month and could scarcely swim. His little joke 
turned out quite differently from what he ex- 
pected ; at any rate, he never tried to play basket- 
ball with me again. If he was the same whale 
that chased old-daddy-long- 
legs cuttlefish, I am not sure 
but that it served him right, 
while I am sure he had only himselfTo blame. 

I came across a forlorn old schooner during a 
violent thunderstorm one day shortly after this. 
She was a wreck,— what they call a "derelict,”— 
and nobody was on board. I followed in her wake 



THE BELL-BUOY’S STORY 


41 


for nearly a day, but she had so much more ex- 
posed than I that the wind finally carried her oif 
from my course. 

You will understand that I was making ac- 
quaintances all the time ; but they were a restless 
lot for the most part, and usually did not care to 
bowl along at my leisurely pace. 

I must tell you about some athletic sports in 
which I took part. One bright, clear day, shortly 
before sundown, I was overtaken by a jolly lot of 
young porpoises just let out of school. They 
were frisking away as happy as could be, greeted 
me pleasantly and hurried along. One young 
rascal called back, asking if I did nT want to be 
towed— fancy! They had not been gone more 
than an hour when they came rushing back — in 
increased numbers, as I at once saw. The biggest 
one of the lot, the chap who had been saucy to me 
before, swam up to say that shortly after they 
had left me they had met another school, and the 
idea occurred to them that it would be good fun 
to have some jumping games, and that maybe I 
would nT mind if they used me as ^ 
a sort of hurdle. I did n’t at , 

like the idea at first, but they were ^ 

so nice about it that I finally gave in. 


42 


SEA STORIES 


I really believe that if any vessel had passed 
near us for the half-hour that followed, it would 
without doubt have thought that a submarine 
earthquake was taking place. Such a splashing 
and springing you never saw! One little chap, 
instead of jumping through my bell-frame be- 
tween the lower cross-bar and the upper plates of 
my body, as the others did, had barely force 
enough to land him squarely upon me, and there 
he lay flopping about while the whole school 
laughed heartily — that is, they puffed and snorted 
at a great rate, and I presume it was what they 
would call laughing. The 
little fellow was so 
ashamed that when he 
finally rolled off he swam 
back to his home without waiting for the fun to 
be over. 

And so it went; nearly every day there was 
something new. 

To make a long story short, I drifted far to the 
north of England, and finding nothing of interest 
in that direction, I turned to the southward. 

By this time I was pretty tired and, I must con- 
fess, a wee bit homesick. I looked with longing 
after a huge passenger-steamer as she came 



THE BELL-BUOY’S STORY 


43 


somewhere from the southern coast of Ireland, 
bound back to America. I rang my bell, but too 
weakly to make her hear, for she kept right on 
her course. I watched her longingly until she 
disappeared on the horizon. 

Then along came a government cruiser. How 
glad I was at the sight of the old flag as the vessel 
bore straight in my direction as if she would run 
me down! I was determined to be heard this 
time, so I clanged away at my bell with a will; 
but I might have saved my strength, for they had 
already seen me and had slowed up to meet me. 
It was the business of her officers, it seems, to 
look after waifs and runaways like me, and they 
certainly did their duty. Indeed, I afterward 
learned that they had known of my leaving those 
Florida Keys, and, in a way, had been on the look- 
out for me for many weeks. A boat was lowered 
and I was towed alongside, and in a few minutes 
was hauled aboard and finally brought back to 
America and my friends. 

So here I am, taking a quiet rest after my long 
buffeting of the tireless waves. 

I overheard an officer say the other day that 
there was a chart up in Washington somewhere 
showing the course they supposed I had taken. 

3 


44 


SEA STORIES 


Their map may be correct, but they could never 
put down on a chart the many things I have seen 
and heard and done. That is something they 
know nothing about, for I am telling you some of 
them now for the very first time. 




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A SONG OF THE SEA 

BY ERIC PARKER 

M errily, merrily dance the sails 
Over the summer sea ; 

Down to the rocks and the yellow sand, 
Down to the sand go we ! 

Hey for a bucket, and hey for a spade. 

Hey for the silver sea! 

Bricks and mortar for money and men, 
Castles of sand for me ! 

Seaweed and shells for windows and doors. 
Doors out into the sea ! 

Fish for sentinels, crabs for guards. 

Pebbles for lock and key I 

We are the kings of the golden sand. 

Queens of the silver sea ! 

Ours is a kingdom of spades and pails. 

None are so happy as we! 



MY NARROWEST ESCAPE 


BY GEORGE KEN NAN 

E very traveler or explorer who goes into a 
wild, unknown part of the world to make 
scientific researches, to find a new route for com- 
merce, or to gratify an innate love of adventure, 
has, now and then, an escape from a violent death 
which is so extraordinary that he classifies it 
under the head of '^narrow/’ The peril that he 
incurs may be momentary in duration, or it may 
be prolonged for hours, or even days ; but in any 
case, while it lasts it is imminent and deadly. It 
is something more than ordinary danger — it is 
peril in which the chances of death are a hundred, 
and of life only one. Such peril advances, as a 
rule, with terrifying swiftness and suddenness; 
» and if one is unaccustomed to danger, he is liable 
to be beaten down and overwhelmed by the quick 
and unexpected shock of the catastrophe. He has 
no time to rally his nervous forces, or to think 
how he will deal with the emergency. The crisis 

48 


MY NARROWEST ESCAPE 49 

comes like an instantaneous '‘Vision of Sudden 
Death/’ which paralyzes all his faculties before 
he has a chance to exert them. Swift danger of 
this kind tests to the utmost a man’s inherited or 
acquired capacity for instinctive and purely auto- 
matic action ; but as it generally passes before it 
has been fairly comprehended, it is not so trying, 
I think, to the nerves and to the character as the 
danger that is prolonged to the point of full reali- 
zation, and that cannot then be averted or les- 
sened by any possible action. It is only when a 
man has time to understand and appreciate the 
impending catastrophe, and can do absolutely 
nothing to avert it, that he fully realizes the pos- 
sibility of death. Action of any kind is tonic, and 
when a man can fight danger with his muscles or 
his brain, he is roused and excited by the strug- 
gle; but when he can do nothing except wait, 
watch the suspended sword of Damocles, and 
wonder how soon the stroke will come, he must 
have strong nerves long to endure the strain. 

In the autumn of 1867, just after the abandon- 
ment of the Russian-American telegraph line, I 
had in northeastern Siberia an escape from death 
in which the peril came with great swiftness and 
suddenness, and was prolonged almost to the ex- 


SEA STORIES 


SO 

treme limit of nervous endurance. It happened 
in this way : 

Our boat was an open sloop-rigged sail-boat, 
about twenty-five feet in length, which we had 
bought from a Russian merchant named Phillip- 
eus. There were eight men of us, including 
Sandford, Bowsher, Heck, and four others whose 
names I cannot now recall. I had not before that 
time paid much attention to her, but so far as I 
knew she was safe and seaworthy. There was 
some question, however, as to whether she carried 
ballast enough for her sail-area; and at the last 
moment, to make sure of being on the safe side, 
I had two of Sandford’s men roll down and put 
on board two barrels of sugar from the com- 
pany’s storehouse. I then bade good-by to Dodd 
and Frost, the comrades who had shared with me 
so many hardships and perils, took a seat in the 
stern-sheets of the little sloop, and we were ofif. 

Heck, who managed our sloop, was a fairly 
good sailor ; but as the wind increased, the dark- 
ness thickened, and the sea grew higher and 
higher, it became evident to me that nothing out 
unusually good luck would enable us to reach the 
bark in safety. We were not shipping any water, 
except now and then a bucketful of foam and 


MY NARROWEST ESCAPE 


51 


spray blown from the crest of a wave; but the 
boat was yawing in a very dangerous way as she 
mounted the high, white-capped rollers, and I 
was afraid that sooner or later she would swing 
around so far that even with the most skilful 
steering a jibe would be inevitable. 

It was very dark. I had lost sight of the land, 
and I donh know exactly in what part of the gulf 
we were when the dreaded catastrophe came. 
The sloop rose on the back of an exceptionally 
high, combing sea, hung poised for an instant on 
its crest, and then, with a wide yaw to starboard 
which the rudder was powerless to check, swooped 
down sidewise into the hollow, rolling heavily to 
port, and pointing her boom high up into the gale. 
When I saw the dark outline of the leech of the 
mainsail waver for an instant, flap once or twice, 
and then suddenly collapse, I knew what was 
coming, and shouting at the top of my voice, 
^'Look out, Heck! She fll jibe!” I instinctively 
threw myself into the bottom of the boat to escape 
the boom. With a quick, sudden rush ending in 
a great crash, the long, heavy spar swept across 
the boat from starboard to port, knocking Bow- 
sher overboard and carrying away the mast. The 
sloop swung around into the trough of the sea, in 


52 


SEA STORIES 


a tangle of sails, sheets, halyards, and standing 
rigging; and the next great comber came plump 
into her, filling her almost to the gunwales with a 
white smother of foam. I thought for a moment 
that she had swamped and was sinking; but as I 
rose to a crouching posture and rubbed the salt 
water out of my eyes, I saw that she was less than 
half full, and that if we did not ship another sea 
too soon, prompt and energetic bailing might yet 
keep her afloat. 

^^Bail her out, boys! For your lives! With 
your hats!” I shouted; and began scooping out 
the water with my fur malakhai (mal-a-khai).^ 

Eight men bailing for life, even with hats and 
caps, can throw a great deal of water out of a 
boat in a very short time; and within five or ten 
minutes the first imminent danger of sinking was 
over. Bowsher, who was a good swimmer and 
had not been seriously hurt by the boom, climbed 
back into the boat ; we cut away the standing rig- 
ging, freed the sloop from the tangle of cordage, 
and got the water-soaked mainsail on board ; and 
then, tying a corner of this sail to the stump of 
the mast, we spread it as well as we could, so that 
it would catch a little wind and give the boat 

1 A fox-skin or wolf-skin hood worn by the Siberian natives in winter. 


MY NARROWEST ESCAPE 


53 


steerage-way. Under the influence of this scrap 
of canvas the sloop swung slowly around, across 
the seas, the water ceased to come into her, and 
wringing out our wet caps and clothing, we began 
to breathe more freely. When the first excite- 
ment of the crisis had passed, and I recovered my 
self-possession, I tried to estimate, as coolly as 
possible, our prospects and our chances. The 
situation seemed to me almost hopeless. We 
were in a dismasted boat, without oars, without 
a compass, without a morsel of food or a mouth- 
ful of water, and we were being blown out to sea 
in a heavy northeasterly gale. It was so dark 
that we could not see the land on either side of 
the constantly widening gulf ; there was no sign 
of the Onward, the vessel we set out to seek ; and 
in all probability there was not another vessel in 
any part of the Okhotsk Sea. The nearest land 
was eight or ten miles distant; we were drifting 
farther and farther away from it; and in our dis- 
abled and helpless condition there was not the 
remotest chance of our reaching it. In all proba- 
bility the sloop would not live through the night 
in such a gale ; and even should she remain afloat 
until morning, we should then be far out at sea, 
with nothing to eat or drink, and with no pros- 


54 


SEA STORIES 


pect of being picked up. If the wind should hold 
in the direction in which it was blowing, it would 
carry us past the Onward at a distance of at least 
three miles ; we had no lantern with which to at- 
tract the attention of the ship’s watch, even should 
we happen to drift past her within sight ; the cap- 
tain did not know that we were coming olf to the 
bark that night, and would not think of looking 
out for us; and so far as I could discover, there 
was not a ray of hope for us in any direction. 

How long we drifted out in black darkness, and 
in that tumbling, threatening, foam-crested sea, 
I do not know. It seemed to me many hours. I 
had a letter in my pocket which I had written the 
day before to my mother, and which I had in- 
tended to send down to San Francisco with the 
bark. In it I assured her that she need not feel 
any further anxiety about my safety, because the 
Russian-American telegraph line had been aban- 
doned. I was to be landed by the Onward at 
Okhotsk; I was coming home by way of St. 
Petersburg over a good post-road; and I should 
not be exposed to any^more dangers. As I sab 
there in the dismasted sloop, shivering with cold 
and drifting out to sea before a howling arctic 
gale, I remembered this letter, and wondered 


MY NARROWEST ESCAPE 


55 


what my poor mother would think if she could 
read its contents and at the same time see in a 
mental vision the situation of its writer. 

So far as I can remember, there was very little 
talking among the men during those long, dark 
hours of suspense. None of us, I think, had any 
hope; it was hard to make one’s voice heard above 
the roaring of the wind, and we all sat or cowered 
in the bottom of the boat, waiting for an end 
which could not be very far away. 

Now and then a heavy sea would break over 
the boat, and we would all begin bailing again 
with our hats; but aside from this, there was 
nothing to be done. It did not seem to me proba- 
ble that the half-wrecked sloop would live more 
than three or four hours. The gale was con- 
stantly rising, and every few minutes we were 
lashed with stinging whips of icy spray, as a fierce 
squall struck the water to windward, scooped off 
the crests of the waves, and swept them horizon- 
tally in dense white clouds across the boat. 

It must have been about nine o’clock when 
somebody in the bow suddenly shouted excitedly, 
“I see a light!” 

“Where away?” I cried, half rising from the 
bottom of the boat in the stern-sheets. 


SEA STORIES 


56 

^Three or four points on the lee bow,” the voice 
replied. 

''Are you sure?” I demanded. 

"I ’m not quite sure, but I saw the twinkle of 
something away over on the Matuga Island side. 
It ’s gone now,” the voice added, after a moment’s 
pause; "but I saw something.” 

We all looked eagerly and anxiously in the di- 
rection indicated; but strain our vision as we 
might, we could not see the faintest gleam or 
twinkle in the impenetrable darkness to leeward. 
If there was a light visible in that or in any other 
direction, it could only be the anchor-light of the 
Onward, because both coasts of the gulf were un- 
inhabited; but it seemed to me probable that the 
man had been deceived by a spark of phosphor- 
escence or the gleam of a white foam-crest. 

For fully five minutes no one spoke, but all 
stared into the thick gloom ahead. Then, sud- 
denly, the same voice cried aloud in a tone of still 
greater excitement, assurance, and certainty: 

"There it is again! I knew I saw it! It ’s a 
ship’s light !” 

In another moment I caught sight of it myself 
— a faint, distant, intermittent twinkle on the 
horizon nearly dead ahead. 

"It ’s the anchor-light of the Onward!” I 


MY NARROWEST ESCAPE 


57 


shouted in fierce excitement. ''Spread the corner 
of the mainsail a little more, if you can, boys, so 
as to give her better steerage-way. We Ve got 
to make that ship ! Hold her steady on the light, 
Heck, even if you have to put her in the trough of 
the sea. We might as well founder here as drift 
past 

"There she is!’’ shouted Sandford. "We ’re 
close on her !” 

The bark was pitching furiously to her an- 
chors, and as we drifted rapidly down upon her 
we could hear the hoarse roar of the gale through 
her rigging, and see a pale gleam of foam as the 
seas broke in sheets of spray against her blufif 
bows. 

"Shall I try to round to abreast of her?” cried 
Heck to me ; "or shall I go bang down on her ?” 

"Don’t take any chances,” I shouted. "Better 
strike her and go to pieces alongside, than miss 
her and drift past. Make ready now to hail her 
— all together — one, two, three!— Bark a-hoy! 
Again — one, two, three!— Bark a-ho-o-o-y! 
Stand by to throw us a line !” 

But no sound came from the huge black shadow 
under the pitching lantern save the deep bass roar 
of the storm through the cordage. 

We gave one more fierce, inarticulate cry as 


58 


SEA STORIES 


the dark outline of the bark rose on a sea high 
above our heads; and then, with a staggering 
shock and a great crash, the boat struck the ship's 
bow. 

What happened in the next minute I hardly 
know. I have a confused recollection of being 
thrown violently across a thwart in a white 
smother of foam; of struggling to my feet and 
clutching frantically at a wet black wall; and of 
hearing some one shout in a wild, despairing 
voice, 'Watch ahoy! We 're sinking! For God's 
sake throw us a line!"— but that is all. 

The water-logged sloop seesawed up and down 
past the bark's side, one moment rising on a huge 
comber until I could almost grasp the rail, and 
the next sinking into a deep hollow between the 
surges far below the line of the copper sheathing. 
We tore the ends of our finger-nails off against 
the ship's side in trying to stop the boat's drift, 
and shouted despairingly again and again for 
help and a line; but our voices were drowned in 
the roar of the gale; there was no response; and 
the next sea carried us under the bark's counter. 
I made one last clutch at the smooth, wet planks ; 
and then, as we drifted astern past the ship, I 
abandoned hope. 



■“the long, heavy spar swept across the boat from starboard to port, 

KNOCKING BOWSHER OVERBOARD AND CARRYING AWAY THE MAST ” 


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MY NARROWEST ESCAPE 6i 

The sloop was now sinking rapidly,— I was 
already standing up to my knees in water,— and 
in thirty seconds more we should be out of sight 
of the bark, in the dark, tumbling sea to leeward, 
with no more chance of rescue than if we were 
drowning in mid- Atlantic. Suddenly a dark fig- 
ure in the boat beside me — I learned afterward 
that it was Bowsher — tore ofif his coat and waist- 
coat and made a bold leap info the sea to wind- 
ward. He knew that it was certain death to drift 
out of sight of the bark in that sinking sloop, and 
he hoped to be able to swim alongside until he 
should be picked up. I myself had not thought of 
this before, but I saw instantly that it ofifered a 
forlorn hope of escape, and I was just poised in 
the act of following his example when on the 
quarter-deck of the bark, already twenty feet 
away, a white, ghost-like figure appeared with 
uplifted arm, and a hoarse voice shouted, “Stand 
by to catch a line 

It was the Onward’s second mate. He had 
heard our cries in his state-room as we drifted 
under the ship’s counter, and had instantly sprung 
from his berth and rushed on deck in his night- 
gown. 

By the dim light of the binnacle I could just 


62 


SEA STORIES 


see the coil of rope unwind as it left his hand. 
But I could not see where it fell; I knew that 
there would be no time for another throw ; and it 
seemed to me that my heart did not beat again 
until I heard from the bow of the sloop a cheery 
shout of ''All right ! I Ve got the line ! Slack off 
till I make it fast 

In thirty seconds more we were safe. The sec- 
ond mate roused the watch, who had apparently 
taken refuge in the forecastle from the storm ; the 
sloop was hauled up under the bark’s stern; a 
second line was thrown to Bowsher, and one by 
one we were hoisted in a sort of improvised 
breeches-buoy to the Onward’s quarter-deck. As 
I came aboard, coatless, hatless, and shivering 
from cold and excitement, the captain stared at 
me in amazement for a moment, and then ex- 
claimed, "Good God! Mr. Kennan, is that you? 
What possessed you to come off to the ship such 
a night as this?” 

"Well, captain,” I replied, trying to force a 
smile, "it did n’t blow in this way when we 
started; and we had an accident — carried our 
mast away.” 

"But,” he remonstrated, "it has been blowing 
great guns ever since dark. I never thought of 


MY NARROWEST ESCAPE 


63 


looking out for a boat. It ’s a mere chance that 
you found us here. We Ve got two anchors 
down, and we Ve been dragging them both. I 
finally had them buoyed, and told the mate that if 
they dragged again we M slip the cables and run 
out to sea. You might not have found us here at 
all, and then where would you have been 

''Probably at the bottom of the gulf,'’ I replied. 
"I have n't expected anything else for the last 
three hours." 

The ill-fated sloop from which we made this 
narrow escape was so crushed in her collision 
with the bark that the sea battered her to pieces 
in the course of the night; and when I went on 
deck the next morning, a few ribs and shattered 
planks, floating awash at the end of the line 
astern, were all of her that remained. 


4 


THE CAUTIOUS CAPTAIN 


BY RUDOLPH F. BUNNER 

A YACHTSMAN who loved the green sea 
Was always as scared as could be 
When he met with a squall — 

His heart ’t would appal, 

But, still, he just loved the green sea. 

‘^If my sail I could reef right away, 

I ’d be perfectly safe,’’ he would say. 

So a mainsail he made 
Like a great window-shade. 

And the squalls bring no longer dismay. 



64 


STEERING WITHOUT A COMPASS 


BY GUSTAV KOBBE 

T he degree of ''A. B” is not confined to col- 
lege graduates. Aboard ship it means 
“able-bodied’' seaman. 

Every nautical A. B. knows how to “box the 
compass” and how to steer by it ; but you will be 
surprised to learn that no good helmsman will 
steer by a compass unless all other things fail him. 
Among those “other things” are the horizon, the 
wind, the wake of the ship, the stars, the sound- 
ings, and the line of the surf when running along 
the coast. And so the able-bodied seaman, when 
a greenhorn takes his trick at the wheel, hands 
over the helm to him with this caution: “Keep 
your head out of the binnacle !” 

I am speaking of sailing-vessels. Steamers, 
especially those that travel on regular routes, 
steer by compass. They “run their courses” from 

point to point— from lighthouse to lighthouse, 
6s 


66 


SEA STORIES 


light-ship, day-mark, buoy, bell, or fog-whistle. 
In thick weather they know, taking wind and tide 
into consideration, how long they should stand on 
each course, and try never to pass the ''signah' at 
the end of it. When they have seen or heard that 
signal, they start on the next “run’’ or course. 
This is called “running the time and distance.” 
I have gone into Halifax on a steamer that met 
with thick fog from Cape Cod down. One morn- 
ing the captain said to me : 

“We ought to pick up Sambro in half an hour.” 

Surely enough, about half an hour later we 
heard, through the fog, a cannon-shot, the distin- 
guishing fog-signal of the Sambro light-station 
on the Nova Scotian coast. 

Real sailors — the Jack tars that man sailing- 
vessels— actually prefer, as I have said, to steer 
by signs rather than by compass; and there are 
times when the steamer-pilots, have to. ^ 

You ’ve heard of a “landlubber” ; but have you 
ever heard of a “lubber’s point” ? Every compass 
has one; and it is n’t a point either, but a line — a 
fixed line in the compass that runs exactly in the 
same direction as the vessel’s keel. Sailors poke 
a great lot of fun at a landlubber ; but they have 
great respect for the lubber’s point. Without 


STEERING WITHOUT A COMPASS 67 

it they could nT tell, when steering by compass, 
whether the vessel was keeping on her course or 
not; for instance, if the vessel is to be kept on a 
northeasterly course, the “N. E/’ mark on the 
compass must lie directly over the lubber’s point, 
which thus is a kind of lubber that amounts to 
something in the world. In heavy or rolling seas 
the compass is often so badly shaken up that the 
point on which the helmsman has been directed 
to keep the vessel won’t remain over the lubber’s 
point, and he has to steer by other signs. Often, 
too, in very calm, smooth water the compass be- 
comes, as the sailors say, ''sluggish” and "dead,” 
and has to be shaken to set it moving. Now, it ’s 
just as much trouble to stop and shake a compass 
that ’s misbehaving itself as it is to stop and shake 
a bad boy, provided you can catch him; and the 
sailor, if other signs are handy, prefers to keep 
on his course by them, without paying any atten- 
tion to the compass’s doldrums. In electric storms 
the needle is apt to behave pretty badly. It will 
"go crazy,” and fly all around so that no one can 
tell on what point the ship is steering. Cast- 
aways, as the fishermen on the Banks who while 
out in their dories find themselves separated from 
their ship in a heavy fog, and who often have no 


68 


SEA STORIES 


compass with them, could never lay a general 
course for land unless they had certain signs to 
steer by. 

Of these various signs the horizon is the readi- 
est to hand. It is right out there over the ocean. 
Every sailing-vessel has a tendency to ''come up 
into the wind’’— to swing toward the direction 
from which the wind is blowing. For instance, if 
the wind is from the east, the vessel’s bow, instead 
of pointing steadily in the direction in which the 
helmsman steers, has a tendency to sweep over 
toward the east. By keeping his eye on the hori- 
zon, the man at the helm can detect the sweep of 
the bow along the horizon line, and check or cor- 
rect it— keep the ship "off”— by a turn of the 
wheel ; or he may detect this "to” or "off” motion 
by watching a sluggish cloud, if one happens to 
be dead-ahead. 

The "fly” at the masthead is often used as a 
sign to steer by. It revolves on a pivot, and 
hence, like a weather-vane, shows the direction 
from which the wind is blowing; whereas a flag 
attached to a halyard streams directly astern, or 
at an angle more or less affected by the speed and 
course of the vessel. A glance at the fly having 
shown the wind’s direction, a glance at the binna- 


STEERING WITHOUT A COMPASS 69 

cle shows from what point of the compass it 
comes. Then, by watching the fly, and thus keep- 
ing the ship always at the same angle to the wind, 
you are able to keep her on her course. 



Fly. 


Dog-vane, or Day-vane. 
“ FLIES ” 


Dog-vane proper. 


The ships of different nations have distinctive 
flies. The American and the English fly is a little 
triangular pennon. German ships often have a 
small tapering bag at the masthead, and French 
vessels a ‘'dog-vane’'— a line of corks with colored 
feathers on a wire. The steamers of the French 
Line from New York to Havre have a dog- vane 
at each masthead — it is one of their distinguish- 
ing marks. 

Steering by the fly is one way of steering by the 
wind, but there are other tricks for finding the 
wind-point. A sailor can find the point of a stiff 
breeze by simply letting it blow against his face. 


70 


SEA STORIES 


In a light air, almost a calm, he lifts his cap and 
turns his head until he feels the cool breath on his 
moist brow, which is far more sensitive than his 
sun-tanned face; or he moistens the edge of his 
hand, and turning it toward the wind, waves it 
gently back and forth and to and fro until the 
coolness of the air is felt on one side of that nar- 
row surface and not on the other. In heavier airs 
he will moisten the palm of the hand and hold it 
flat to the wind. The wind-point being found, the 
ship is sailed as close to the wind as possible, the 
helmsman keeping his eye on the sail-leech. The 
least quiver, and a turn of the wheel keeps her off 
enough to fill her sails; but with an experienced 
hand on the wheel there will be no quiver along 
the leech. For an B.’’ can tell by the 'Teeh’ 
of the helm when the ship is about to come up into 
the wind; as a vessel ''comes up’’ the strain on the 
rudder is lessened, and by quickly checking her 
he keeps the sails "rap full and asleep”— keeps 
them from quivering— and holds her on her 
course without so much as a glance at the com- 
pass. 

Sailors also steer by the wake of the ship. 
When a vessel is running free— that is, with the 
wind dead-astern— she must leave a straight 


STEERING WITHOUT A COMPASS 


71 


wake or she is not running a straight course. 
When she is ^^on the wind/’ her canvas full, not 
shivering,— when she is 

As near as she will lie 

By keeping full and bye, — 

her wake will be at an angle greater or less ac- 
cording to the force of the wind and the speed of 
the vessel. This angle measures what we call the 
ship’s ^deeway”— that which she loses from a true 
course. With a vessel hove to in a gale, the lee- 
way becomes very large, and is called the ^‘drift.” 

Coasting-craft steer by the line of white surf 
on the shore, or in thick weather by its roar as it 
breaks on the beach or rocks. They haul in to 
catch the sound, then keep off until they lose it, 
and then haul in again to a central line and main- 
tain it. An old sea-dog once told me that one 
thick night, coming up along the coast with a 
head wind so that they had to tack in and off 
shore, they sailed their tacks, or ran their ''legs,” 
by candles — running offshore long enough to 
burn out two candles, but burning only one for 
the inshore leg, so as to avoid standing in too 
close. 

The Alaska steamers on the inside route be- 


72 


SEA STORIES 


tween the main coast and numerous outlying 
islands steer, even in running through the nar- 
rowest channels, by the varying echoes of the 
paddles from the shores. 

A given course can also be run by soundings, 
or, rather, by a line of soundings. In entering 
New York harbor, keep in say fifteen, twenty, 
forty fathoms, no less, until you get ten fathoms. 
If then the lead shows fine white sand, look out 
for Sandy Hook light-ship. Coarse yellow sand 
will land you on Fire Island. 

That sailors prefer not to steer by compass 
must have struck you as one curious fact. Here 
is another. A steersman can keep his ship better 
on her course at night, if it be clear, than during 
the day. “Look ahead, get a star, and steady her 
head by it.’’ So says the A. B. of the ocean to the 
sailor who has not yet won his degree. For to 
the helmsman the stars are like the pillar of fire 
in Scripture. They are the hands on the dial of 
the night. They twinkle “good-evening” to poor 
Jack as he sits up aloft or stands at the helm, and 
wink “good-morning” and “good-by” to him with 
daylight. It is obvious that the “to” or “off” 
movement of a vessel can be more quickly de- 
tected by a small, bright object like a star 
dead-ahead than by the monotonous sweep of the 


STEERING BY THE POLE-STAR 

The two stars at the right and near the top of the picture are the ‘‘pointers. 



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STEERING WITHOUT A COMPASS 


75 


horizon, or by peering into the compass-box. The 
same ancient mariner who told me about measur- 
ing the length of the off and in shore legs by the 
life of candles, told me that once, when the oil in 
the binnacle-lamps gave out and he was steering 
by a star, he occasionally struck a match and 
looked at the compass ''to see if the star had 
moved any.'’ He was a genuine “sea-cook," this 
ancient mariner, being steward of the vessel on 
which I was sailing; and he would bob up out of 
the cook's galley amidships like a seal bobbing up 
through a hole in the ice, and proceed to spin 
yarns. 

When the lookout sings out, “Land ho!" and 
has replied to the officer's “Where away?" a star 
over the rock or other danger may be noted and 
brought down in line with the point on the com- 
pass, and its proper bearing obtained. 

“The stars," said a sea-captain to me, “move 
apparently from east to west, so that when we find 
our first star will no longer do, we select another. 
This is the case with all but the north or pole star, 
which is in line with two certain stars in the Great 
Bear or Dipper, and the orbit is so small that it is 
a good guide for all night ; and we can even detect 
errors of the compass by it." 

The north star is of course as true as, or even 


76 


SEA STORIES 


truer than, the most accurate compass. To the V 
''other things'’ that sailors steer by, the compass 
is, however, what steam is to electricity. To pro- 
duce an electric light you require a dynamo; to 
run the dynamo you need steam. You may feel 
the wind on your moist brow or hand; but the 
direction from which it blows you can — except in 
case of the regular trade winds, or unless you are 
up in sea-lore— tell only from the compass. Then 
by sailing close to the wind you can keep on that 
course without looking at the compass. But sail- 
ors naturally have a large accumulation of 
weather-lore; and in addition to the "trades" 
there are, except in case of violent storms, certain 
regularities in the winds in certain parts of the 
ocean, and certain other recurring signs, which 
the helmsman can utilize, and which often enable 
him to dispense with the compass altogether. 

For instance, if in standing south to round the 
Horn, you see the "Magellanic Clouds" (bright 
patches in the Milky Way) directly above the 
ship, change your course for the Straits of Ma- 
gellan. 




THE DORY RIDES OUT THE GALE 









BY MALCOLM DOUGLAS 



WAS in ’65, my little cove, 

As I recollects, the day 

We ships our cargo, with nary 
embargo. 

An’ sails from Ja-ma-ki-a. 

Then it ’s yo, heave ho ! an’ it ’s 
heave agin ! 

An’ the wind a-blowin’ free! 

With plenty o’ ’backy to last, 
by crackey, 

A sailor’s life for me! 


Sorghum ’lasses our cargo was; 

Our ship the “Sassy Jane” ; 

No rakisher sailin’, an’ she a-hailin’. 
From Kennebunk, down in Maine. 

h 


78 SEA STORIES 

An’ we have n’t been more than two days out, 
When the duff don’t seem to please ; 

There ain’t the richness of raisins an’ sichness, 
So we ups an’ we mutinies. 



The cap’n, the fust, an’ secun’ mate. 

The grizzled old bos’n, too 
(Fur One-eye Slover, the cook, come over). 

An’ agin ’em the hull ship’s crew ! 

An’ a terrible, bloodthirsty, willainous crew. 

As could n’t be possible wuss ; 

Which the same wore ear-rings to help their hearings, 
An’ was tattooed promiscuous ! 


A TALE OF PIRACY 


79 



A WILLAINOUS CREW 


Then it ’s pippety-pop, an’ bang away, 

An’ it ’s cut an’ it ’s come agin, 

With balls ia-shriekin’, an’ knives a-reekin’. 
Till sullen-like they gives in ! 





SEA STORIES 


An’ then, a-knowin’ they ’d be picked up 
If we set the hull lot afloat, 

We makes ’em risk it with plain sea-biscuit 
In a leaky old jolly-boat. 

Then up the bonny black flag we runs, 
A-beginnin’ of desp’rit lives. 

An’ the mutiny-breeder we ’lects as leader, 
An’ kivers oursel’s with knives. 



an’ we has what you calls remorse ” 


Full many a gallant merchantm’n, 
A-loaded with shiny gold, 

We fights a duel, an’ takes most cruel. 
An’ lightens up of its hold. 


A TALE OF PIRACY 


8i 


But sometimes we gets a-thinkin’, nights, 
As we sails upon our course, 

We ain't of recent been actin’ decent. 

An’ we has what you calls remorse. 



An’ all of a sudden we quar’ly grows, 

A-achin’ each other to strike ; 

There was two begin it, then more comes in it, 
An’ soon it is gen’ral-like. 


82 


SEA STORIES 


A fight as lasted three days an’ nights, 
An’ as bad as ever I see, 

Not once a-stoppin’, an’ men a-droppin’. 
Till all that was left was me! 



An’, with all that valible treasure mine, 

A tempest comes down at last. 

An’ I keeps on sailin’, an’ bailin’ an’ bailin’. 
But the wessel ’s a-fillin’ fast. 



I GETS ON DRY LAND 


99 


A TALE OF PIRACY 


83 


So with a hen-coop over I jumps, 

An' on it I floats a week, 

Till I makes an island, an' gets on dry land, 
So hoarse I kin just but speak. 



“ NOURISHED ON PENGUINS’ EGGS ” 


An' there fur eight long years I stays, 
A-drinkin' of misery's dregs. 

With no one near me to try an' cheer me. 
An' nourished on penguins' eggs. 


84 


SEA STORIES 


Eight weary, dreary, teary years. 

An’ biliousy-like an’ pale ; 

Fur comp’ny sighin’, an’ rags a-flyin’ 
A-tryin’ to catch a sail ! 

But, when I ’m a-givin’ up hope at last, 

A wessel it heaves in sight. 

An’ I cooks up a story that ’s noways gory. 
Explainin’ of my sad plight. 



I COOKS UP A STORY THAT S NOWAYS GORY 


An’ many ’s an’ many ’s the time since then 
I ’ve sat me down to weep. 

To think of them millions — I may say billions — 
A hundred o’ fathoms deep ! 


A TALE OF PIRACY 


85 


Fur, with what I Ve got, my little cove, 

At the bottom of the sea. 

Your millionaires, with their bonds an’ shares. 
Are n’t a sarkumstance ’long o’ me ! 



THE LIGHTS THAT GUIDE IN THE 
NIGHT 

BY LIEUTENANT JOHN M. ELLICOTT, U. S. N. 

W HEN ships are sailing upon the ocean the 
lights of heaven are their guides. Even in 
the dark ages, when the compass and sextant 
were unknown instruments, the seemingly mo- 
tionless pole-star hung like a beacon light in the 
northern heavens, and the rising and setting of 
the sun and stars distinguished the east from the 
west. When, however, ships come near the land 
the lights of heaven are not sufficient safely to 
guide them. Rocks lie in their paths unseen in 
the night; reefs and shoals spread under the 
water ; while unsuspected currents sweep the 
frail craft all blindly upon these dangers. 

Nevertheless, ships were sailed along danger- 
ous coasts for centuries before a plain system of 
marking dangerous places was invented. The 
early mariners were bold and reckless rovers, 
more than half pirates, who seldom owned a rood 


86 


LIGHTS THAT GUIDE IN THE NIGHT 87 

of the coasts along which they sailed, and could 
not have established lights and landmarks on 
them had they cared to do so. The rude begin- 
ning, then, of a system of lighthouses was when 
the merchants with whom the reckless mariners 
traded in those dark ages built beacons near the 
harbor mouths to guide the ships into port by 
day, and lighted fires for their guidance at night. 
As such a harbor-guide had to be a sure landmark 
in the daytime and a light by night, it soon took 
on a settled shape — a tower on which could be built 
a fire ; and such a tower was usually built of stone. 

This method of guiding ships into the ports 
which they sought was scarcely established be- 
fore human wickedness used it as a means for 
their destruction. Bands of robbers, or, as they 
came to be called, 'Vreckers,’’ would hide them- 
selves somewhere near the haven sought by a 
richly laden vessel, and after overpowering the 
fire-keepers would extinguish the beacon-fire on 
the night on which the ship was expected. Then 
they would light another fire near some treacher- 
ous reef. The mariner, sailing boldly toward the 
false light, would dash his vessel to destruction 
on the reef, whereupon the robber band would 
plunder the wreck and make off with the booty. 



88 



LIGHTS THAT GUIDE IN THE NIGHT 89 

The Mediterranean Sea was the great cradle 
of commerce, and some of the ancient beacon- 
towers at the entrance to its harbors stood intact 
for centuries. The giant statue known as the 
Colossus, at Rhodes, is supposed to have been 
used as a beacon and lighthouse, — the spread of 
the legs of that great figure of Apollo indicating 
the harbor entrance by day, while a fire burned in 
the palm of his uplifted colossal hand at night. 
Although the account of the Colossus is only a 
matter of guesswork, it is historically true that in 
those ages of ignorant heedlessness of the need of 
beacons a lighthouse was built so grand in pro- 
portions, so enduring in character, that it became 
known as one of the Seven Wonders of the 
World, and outlived all the others, save the Pyra- 
mids, by centuries, and in some ways has never 
been excelled by any similar structure in modern 
times, unless it be by our mammoth marble monu- 
ment to Washington. This was the lighthouse 
built on the little island of Pharos by Ptolemy 
Philadelphus, king of Egypt, two hundred and 
eighty years before Christ, to guide vessels into 
the harbor of Alexandria. From all descriptions, 
it must have closely resembled our Washington 
monument; for it was built of white stone^ was 


go 


SEA STORIES 


square at the base, and tapered toward the apex. 
Open windows were near its top, through which 
the fire within could be seen for thirty miles by 
vessels at sea. To build it cost eight hundred tal- 
ents, or nearly one million dollars ; and its height 
was almost exactly the same as that of the Wash- 
ington monument; so if you can imagine that 
great column standing solitary on a low, far- 
reaching, yellow, sandy desert shore, with a fitful 
fire flaring from its top at night, you will have 
clearly in mind the Pharos at Alexandria, which 
served as a lighthouse for sixteen hundred years. 

As commerce became a source of great revenue 
to nations, the maintenance of lights and beacons 
for the protection of vessels became a national 
care; but this was of so very gradual a growth 
that it was not until the beginning of the seven- 
teenth century that the building, lighting, and 
maintaining of lighthouses was looked after with 
regularity by all governments. The best proof of 
the slowness of nations to see the necessity of 
properly lighting their coasts is afforded by Great 
Britain, as a rule the most advanced commercial 
nation. During the reign of Queen Elizabeth a 
religious brotherhood known as ^The Brother- 
hood of the Most Glorious and Undivided Trin- 


LIGHTS THAT GUIDE IN THE NIGHT 91 

ity’’ was directed by an act of Parliament to 
preserve ancient sea-marks, and to 
erect beacons and “signs of the sea.” 1 
For more than a hundred years this ' 
brotherhood kept up the ancient sea- 
marks, but erected nothing new ; then 
they began to purchase and operate 
lights owned by private individuals [ 
or by societies; and still later they ! 
commenced to build lighthouses and 
beacons. Finally, in 1856, Parlia- 
ment gave Trinity House the entire control of the 
lighthouses of England. 

Meantime the means of lighting was being 
steadily improved. The open fire gave place to 
the oil-lamp ; then a curved mirror, called a para- 
bolic mirror, was placed behind the lamp to bring 
the rays together ; next, many lamps with mirrors 
were grouped about a central spindle and some 
such lights are still in operation. The greatest 
stride came when an arrangement of lenses, 
known as the Fresnel lens, in front of a lamp 
replaced the mirror behind it. This lens was rap- 
idly improved for lighthouse purposes, until now 
a cylindrical glass house surrounds the lamp- 
flame. This house has lens-shaped walls which 


92 


SEA STORIES 


bend all the rays to form a horizontal zone of 
strong light which pierces thd darkness to a great 
distance. 

The rapid increase in the number of light- 
houses has made it necessary to have some means 
of telling one from another, or, as it is termed, of 
giving to each light its ‘^characteristic.’’ Color- 
ing the glass made the light dimmer, but as red 
comes most nearly to white light in brightness, 
some lights have red lenses. The latest and best 
plan, however, is to set upright prisms at inter- 
vals in a circular framework around the lens, and 
to revolve this frame by clockwork. Thus the 
light is made to flash every time a prism passes 
between it and an observer. By changing the 
number and places of the prisms, or the speed of 
the clockwork, the flashes for any one light can 
be made to occur at intervals of so many seconds 
for that light. Putting in red prisms gives still 
other changes. Thus each light has its “charac- 
teristic,” and this is written down in signs on the 
charts, and fully stated in the light-lists carried 
by vessels. Thus, on a chart you may note that 
the light you want to sight is marked “F. W., v. 
W. FI., lo-sec.,” which means that it is “fixed 
white varied by white flashes every ten seconds.” 


LIGHTS THAT GUIDE IN THE NIGHT 93 

When a light is sighted you see if those are its 
characteristics; and, if so, you have found the 
right one. 

Another scheme is used on the coasts of France, 
in addition to those I have told you. It is a means 
for swinging a vertical beam of light across the 
sky at regular times. Thus the whereabouts of a 
light can be discovered by the appearance of its 
beam long before the light itself shows above the 
horizon. 

Lighthouse buildings are variously painted so 
that they will have a “characteristic'' by day. 
Thus some towers are red, some black, some 
white and black in horizontal or vertical stripes, 
some checkboarded, and some painted in spiral 
bands like those on a barber's pole as in the pic- 
ture on page 94. 

One seldom thinks, when he watches the 
brightly cheering and safely guiding light of a 
lighthouse, what ceaseless watching and patient 
heroism it takes to keep the light burning year in 
and year out through all weathers. Generally 
there is for each light only a keeper with two as- 
sistants, and often the keeper is assisted only by 
his wife, sons, or daughters. Even the most com- 
fortably situated lighthouses are generally on 





f 



THE LIGHTHOUSE AT ST. AUGUSTINE, FLORIDA 


94 


LIGHTS THAT GUIDE IN THE NIGHT 95 

lonely headlands, with no human dwelling near. 
Others are on outlying rocks, or islands swept by 
the sea, and wholly cut off from the land except 
in fair weather. There are even a few which, 
built upon sunken reefs, seem to rise from the 
very bed of the ocean, and against which storm- 
driven seas break with shocks which shake them 
to their foundations. Such are the Eddystone 
Lighthouse, off the coast of England at the en- 
trance to the English Channel, and our own 
Minot’s Ledge Light, near the entrance to Boston 
Harbor. These two are the most isolated and 
exposed lighthouses in the world. They were 
built at the utmost peril to human life. Each was 
swept away by storms after completion, and had 
to be rebuilt. 

The first lighthouse on Minot’s Ledge was built 
in 1848. It was an octagonal tower resting on 
the tops of eight wrought-iron piles eight inches 
in diameter and sixty feet high, with their bases 
sunk five feet in the rock. These piles were 
braced together in many ways; and, as they of- 
fered less surface to the waves than a solid struc- 
ture, this lighthouse was considered by all author- 
ities upon the subject to be exceptionally strong. 

Its great test came in April, 1851. On the 14th 


96 


SEA STORIES 


of that month, two keepers being in the light- 
house, an easterly gale set in, steadily increasing 
in force. People on shore, and no doubt the keep- 
ers themselves, watched the heavy seas sweep 
harmlessly through the network of piles beneath 
the house, and feared no harm. On the 15th, 
however, the wind and sea had greatly increased, 
and the waves were flung higher and higher to- 
ward that tower in the air. Yet, all thought they 
surely could not reach sixty feet above the ledge ! 

That night was one of keen anxiety, for the 
gale still increased ; and all through that dreadful 
driving storm and darkness, the faithful keepers 
were at their posts, for the light burned brightly. 
On Wednesday, the i6th, the gale had become a 
hurricane ; and when at times the tower could be 
seen through the mists and sea-drift, it seemed to 
bend to the shock of the waves. At four o’clock 
that afternoon an ominous proof of the fury of 
the waves on Minot’s Ledge reached the shore— 
a platform which had been built between the piles 
only seven feet below the floor of the keepers’ 
room. The raging seas, then, were leaping fifty 
feet in the air. Would they reach ten feet higher? 
—for if so the house and the keepers were 
doomed. Nevertheless, when darkness set in the 




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IN A NORTHEASTER 


LIGHTS THAT GUIDE IN THE NIGHT gg 

light shone out as brilliantly as ever; but the 
gale seemed, if possible, then to increase. What 
agony those two men must have suffered ! How 
that dreadful abode must have swayed in the irre- 
sistible hurricane, and trembled at each crashing 
sea! The poor unfortunates must have known 
that if those seas, leaping always higher and 
higher, ever reached their house, it would be flung 
down into the ocean, and they would be buried 
with it beneath the waves. 

To those hopeless, terrified watchers the en- 
tombing sea came at last. At one o’clock in the 
morning the lighthouse bell was heard by those 
on shore to give a mournful clang, and the light 
was extinguished. It was the funeral knell of 
two patient heroes. 

Next day there remained on the rock only eight 
jagged iron stumps. 

During this same gale another lighthouse, 
twenty-five miles out at sea on that New England 
coast, was sore beset. It was on a barren rock of 
considerable area, known as Matinicus Rock; and 
besides the tower there were substantial stone 
buildings for the keeper’s family and for storing 
supplies. The keeper had gone away for pro- 
visions, leaving an invalid wife and four daugh- 


100 


SEA STORIES 


ters in the station. The eldest daughter, a girl of 
seventeen, was in charge of the light. During 
the first day’s gale the seas began to sweep en- 
tirely over the rocks, washing away everything 
movable, and flooding the lower rooms of the 
dwelling. The roar of the surf and the wind was 
so great that the poor women could not hear one 
another’s voices. At this stage of the storm the 
young girl remembered her chickens, and deter- 



minot’s ledge after the storm of 1851 


mined to save them. Taking a large basket, she 
stood at an upper window watching the sea. 
When there came a quiet spell she rushed out of 
the dwelling, dashed ankle-deep through the sea- 
water draining from the rocks, dragged the poor 



LIGHTS THAT GUIDE IN THE NIGHT loi 


drenched hens from the perches where they had 
taken refuge from the waves, placed them in the 
basket, and dashed back in- 
to the house again, with all 
saved— all but one, which 
was out of her reach, and 
for which she could not lin- 
ger; for hardly had she 
secured the door and re- 
treated again to the upper 
floor, when a most terrific 
sea broke over the rocks, 
sweeping away every house 
except the stone dwelling 
and its light-tower. As the 
storm grew worse, the 
dwelling had to be aban- 
doned, and all lived in the 
light-tower for three days 
and nights, during which 
the little light-keeper never 
lost her nerve, but kept the light burning as regu- 
larly as clockwork. 

Lighthouse-keepers do not seem to feel their 
lonely life. I once spent a week on Scotland 
Lightship, near the entrance to New York har- 



SECTION OF THE PRESENT MINOt’S 
LEDGE LIGHT 


102 


SEA STORIES 


bor. The assistant keeper was in charge, and he 
was nearly stone deaf. He had not been ashore 
for three months, and even a newspaper came to 


r 



him only by chance from time to time, when a 
pilot-boat stopped by on her way out of the har- 
bor. From sunrise until nine o’clock at night he 
did little else but sit on a hatchway smoking an 
old pipe and gazing reflectively at the great har- 
bor receiving and dismissing its thousands of ves- 
sels. One day he asked me to use my influence to 


LIGHTS THAT GUIDE IN THE NIGHT 103 

get him transferred to Cape Cod. I asked him 
why he wished the change. 

“Well/’ said he, very seriously, “I want a 
quieter station ; it ’s too lively here ; I want to be 
where there is less going on !” 

Light-ships take the place of lighthouses on 
shoals which are too much exposed, or where 
sands are too shifting to allow lighthouses to be 
built on them. These vessels are very securely 
moored, and newer ones have auxiliary steam- 
power, so that if they should break adrift in a 
storm they could steam into the nearest port for 
shelter, or lie to until the gale abated. Their 
light and lenses surround one or both of their 
masts, and in the daytime are lowered down into 
a little house at the foot of the mast. At night 
the lamps are lighted, and the lights hoisted up 
again to the mastheads. On some shoals, usu- 
ally in rivers and bays, where the water is not too 
deep and the sea is never violent, lighthouses are 
built on a trestlework supported by iron piles 
screwed into the sand. 



BY MARY J. FARRAH, LL.A. 


U NCLE often tells us stories 
Of a ship he has at sea, 

And the wonders and the glories, 

If we he good, for Tom and me; 
And I dream that somewhere sailing 
Is a gallant bark of mine. 

With the soft wind never failing. 

And the weather always fine. 

Oh ! the bells will all be ringing 
With a merry, tuneful din. 
The birds will all be singing. 
When my^hip comes in! 

She is bringing gifts for Mother, 

And for Father and the boys. 

And my little baby brother 

Shall be smothered deep in toys ; 


104 


WHEN MY SHIP COMES IN 


105 


Her hold is full of treasure 
From the islands of the Main, 

And her fairy crew at leisure 
Are sailing home again. 

Oh ! the pleasure past all rhyming, 
And the joy that will begin, 
When all the bells are chiming, 
And my ship comes in ! 

There are storms and sudden dangers 
Hiding cruelly around, 

Where just such ocean rangers 
As my fairy bark are found. 

Blow, breath of heaven, behind her. 

And guide her safely home. 

And some day I shall find her — 

My ship from o’er the foam ! 

Oh ! the birds will all be singing 
When her crew the haven win; 
The bells will all be ringing 


When my ship comes in ! 




A Change of craft 

( 

Bv 




Richard W. Child 


(ROM a boy’s standpoint, Seattle is one of 
the most interesting ports on the Pacific 
coast. Robert Cole, whose father had lost all his 
fortune after the boom had ended and the false 
prosperity of a newly built city was over, lived 
very near the water-front, and used to spend 
many hours, when he was not in school, in dang- 
ling his feet over the edge of a dock, and watch- 
ing the interesting shipping in the busy Puget 
Sound port. 

Bobby had a little craft himself. It was an old 
row-boat with a leg-o’-mutton sail, but it did very 
well for a day’s cruise around the wooded islands 


A CHANGE OF CRAFT 


107 


of Puget Sound in the summer season, when the 
days were mild and pleasant, and the sunlight 
was dazzling white on the snow-cap of Mount 
Rainier. Charley Ruggles, who was the son of 
one of the harbor pilots, and who had taught 
Bobby all he knew about sailing and the winds 
and tides and currents, nearly always went with 
him on the daylight sails of exploration about the 
Sound. 

One day in August the boys had arranged to 
sail over to the western shore of the Sound to a 
fishing settlement of Siwash Indians. Bobby had 
come down to the float where the Ready, as he 
called his sail-boat, was tied up; it was early 
morning, with a heavy mist over the bay. Bobby 
peered over the wharf-edge and saw Charley bail- 
ing out the boat. Beyond, there was the queefest- 
looking craft he had ever seen, fretting against 
the piles on the other side of the dock ; in the mist 
and against the dark surface of the water he 
could hardly see her, although she was only a few 
yards away. From the tip of her stem to the 
edge of her rudder, all along her thirty feet of 
thin, narrow length, she was painted a dull, neu- 
tral gray, the color of battle-ships in war-time. 
At her bow was a little black machine-gun peep- 


io8 


SEA STORIES 


ing out from a cover of gray canvas ; she looked 
for all the world as if she were built for the use 
of pirates. 

“Hello ! Charley/' cried Bob, swinging himself 
down the slippery ladder to the float. “What 
boat is that?" 

“Don't you know?" answered the other, look- 
ing up, red in the face from stooping over; 
“that 's the Smug gler^s^ Nightmare, or at least 
that is what they call her." 

“The smuggler's what?" exclaimed Bobby. 

“Why, you know how much smuggling of 
Chinamen and opium there is in the Sound. Well, 
that 's the boat the government has built to catch 
the smugglers. She 's gray and can't be seen any 
distance, and she has electric power and so is very 
fast and does n't make any noise. Besides, she 
does n't draw much water, and can travel all 
along the shore of the shallow inlets." 

“She looks like a ferret," commented Bobby. 
There was something silent, dark, and mysterious 
about the curious craft ; and even when the boys 
had sailed out into the running tide with the brisk 
morning wind which was blowing the fog over 
the steep shores. Bob turned back for a last 
look. 


A CHANGE OF CRAFT 


109 

"'We have had the wind at our back all the 
morning/' said Bobby, about noon; "and unless 
it shifts we will have to beat our way every inch 
homeward/' 

"It 's just possible we won't get there at all!" 
Charley wet his finger in his mouth and held it up 
to get the direction of the wind. "I can't make 
out where this new breeze is coming from." 

The sail had first been filling and then flopping 
loosely with the rattle and squeak of the rigging. 

Suddenly the breeze dropped altogether, as if 
it had been shut ofif by a curtain. 

Charley scowled. He looked anxiously at the 
gray clouds that had slanted up across the west- 
ern horizon, and toward the north, where a white 
film of fog was rolling toward them across the 
water. 

"We 're going to be becalmed," he said finally. 
"I thought so." 

"What mean luck!" said Bobby, dipping his 
fingers in the water. "We 've only got one oar, 
and we may not get any wind before to-morrow 
morning. I 'm mighty glad, though, that my 
mother will understand that we are becalmed," 
he added in an endeavor to find something cheer- 
ful about the situation. 


no SEA STORIES 

Charles nodded. ''What time is full tide?’’ he 
asked. 

"I don’t know/A said Robert. "It must be 
nearly full now. Are you wondering—” 

"Yes,” interrupted Charles. "I ’m wondering 
how far the tide will take us before morning.” 
He picked up a splinter of wood from the bottom 
and opened his jack-knife. "I wish we had a 
salmon-line,” he said. 

The gray fog, damp and salty, had rolled up 
the bay and, growing heavier and thicker, shut 
off the sight of the opposite shore. Behind the 
curtain of fog the radiant glow of the sun grew 
redder and then faded slowly away. 

"Is n’t it funny that we are not scared?” asked 
Robert, who was killing time by making knots in 
a piece of rope. "If this fog should n’t lift— say 
for three days— we might starve here.” 

Charles did not answer. He was looking over 
the boat’s edge into the oily water that licked the 
white-painted sides. 

"We would n’t starve in this exact spot,” said 
he, gravely looking up. "Feel of that rudder!” 

"Why, we are under way !” exclaimed Bob, as 
he felt the slight resistance of the helm. "And 
look at that seaweed go by!” He cast a glance 


A CHANGE OF CRAFT in 

at the sail; it was still lying limp against the 
mast. 

‘TFs the tide!’' said Charles. ‘Tt’s running out 1” 

‘‘The tide!” echoed the other. “I Ve never 
seen a tide rush along like this.” 

“But we are on the other shore, and among 
these islands just off the point here it empties like 
an upset pail,” explained Charles, who knew the 
waters of the upper Sound well. “We can travel 
fifty miles on this current before daylight, and 
it 's nearly dark now!” He looked searchingly 
out into the fog, which with the coming of night 
had lost its filmy-white color. “I wish I knew in 
which direction the point lies, — we might steer 
our course toward it and row into shallow water. 
I know the direction of the current, but I can’t 
tell just which way we are going.” 

“Why, I can find out,” Bob said, “by feeling 
of the rudder. There, look how straight it is! 
We ’re pointing right down the current now.” 

“Good !” said Charles. “Now 1 will row on the 
port side, and that will keep us edging over to- 
ward shore.” 

“It ’s cold enough,” mused Bob ; “and I wish I 
could have a hot slice of roast beef.” 

“Don’t joke,” said Charles, who understood 


SEA STORIES 


1 12 

the dangers of being carried into the maze of 
island waterways of the Sound. Both boys sat 
dejected and helpless, preparing themselves for 
a long fast and a cold night on the water. 

Suddenly Bob started. ‘'Did you hear that?’' 
he cried. The muffled sound of the explosive 
pounding of a naphtha-launch came to them over 
the waters. 

“Yes,” said Charles, straining his ears. “Lis- 
ten! Is it coming nearer? I think we ’d better 
yell to them.” He threw his head back and 
shouted, “Ahoy, there!” several times. The noise 
of the naphtha-engine stopped for a moment. 
Charles continued his hallooing, and then a curi- 
ous thing happened: behind the curtain of fog 
and darkness the chugging noise of the launch 
began again; but this time, instead of coming 
nearer, it faded rapidly away. The boys looked 
at each other in amazement. 

“Well, whoever they are — they ’re mean 
enough,” said Bob, indignantly. 

Charles nodded. “I should say so,” said he. 
“Now we have the problem of spending the whole 
night in this wet mist ; and, what is more, no one 
can tell where we will be in the morning.” He 
dipped his hand in the water again, and it rippled 


A CHANGE OF CRAFT 


113 

Up on to his wrist. ''We are still moving fast 
enough/’ he announced. 

"What time is it ?” asked Bob, after a long and 
patient silence. Charles struck a match and 
found it was already nine o’clock. The fog had 
begun to take on a new white radiance, and just 
the faintest breeze moved the baggy sail. 

Suddenly the boat bumped over a rock and, 
with a slight shiver, turned half around. "Shal- 
low water!” cried Robert. "And see— the moon 
shows I The fog must be lifting.” 

"You ’re right!” said Charles; "and look 
there!” Both the boys could make out black 
shadows against the moonlight. They were 
skirting along the shore of one of the islands. 
Charles picked up the oar and in a few rapid 
strokes had sent the little craft inshore. The 
boys jumped out and stretched their legs. 

"This is land, anyway,” said Bob. He stopped 
suddenly, for not fifty yards away through the 
pines he saw the light of a lantern moving toward 
the beach. It was carried by a short, stocky man, 
who was followed by two others carrying several 
small wooden boxes. One of them said in a voice 
that the boys could hear plainly enough: "Blow 
it out. What is the use of taking any risks?” 


SEA STORIES 


1 14 

Bob thought only of getting home; he had al- 
ready filled his lungs to shout, when he felt 
Charles’s hand tighten upon his wrist and heard 
hint whisper : “Keep still, Bob ! Can ’t you see— 
they ’re the smugglers ! There ’s the launch we 
heard. See it on the shore?” 

It was as Charles said: a black launch loaded 
with small wooden boxes had been pulled over 
the gravel into shallow water. As Bob looked 
the lantern was blown out and the beach was 
once more in darkness; the light of the moon 
had grown stronger, and a faint night breeze 
was sighing through the pines; the fog was 
lifting. 

“Get down behind these rocks,” whispered 
Charles. “You can’t tell what they would do if 
they should find us here. It ’s lucky that the 
Ready is around the point, for her sail would 
surely show in this moonlight.” 

The rumbling voices of the men continued. 

“There ! These are all stowed away. Another 
trip and we ’ll have a full load,” said one. 

“Light the lantern,” said another, in a com- 
plaining voice. “I keep tripping over these 
rocks.” 

“Look!” whispered Charles in Robert’s ear. 



“ ‘ GET POWN BEHIND THESE ROCKS,’ WHISPERED CHARLES” 






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A CHANGE OF CRAFT 


117 

‘‘You can see their shadows through the trees. 
Now is the time for us to get away.’’ 

Robert set his mouth in a determined manner. 
“See here, Charles,” he said; “these men are law- 
breakers. They ’re cheating the government. 
It would be cowardly to run.” 

“Well, what are you going to do?” inquired 
Charles, cautiously rising to his feet. 

“You can run a naphtha-launch.” 

“Yes.” 

“Then we have n’t a second to lose. The men 
will be back in a minute. I ’m going to take that 
launch and her cargo back to the revenue officers, 
and leave these smugglers prisoners on this 
island.” 

“Whew!” exclaimed Charles, in an astonished 
tone. “Think of the danger! And, besides, the 
men could escape in the Ready.'' 

“No,” said Bob, firmly. “I ’ll push the Ready 
out into the current. We ought to take the risk.” 

Charles was enthused by the idea. “I ’ll do it !” 
said he. He ran back and pushed the little sail- 
boat out into deep water; when he had waded 
beyond his waist he gave her a final push that 
sent her out into the channel. 

As he came back to the beach he heard once 


7 


ii8 SEA STORIES 

more the voices of the men approaching. ^Tt ’s 
too late!'’ he whispered. 'They 're coming!" 

"It 's our only chance to get off this island — 
now the Ready has gone," said Bob, his voice 
trembling with excitement. "Come on!" 

The two boys started down the beach in a race 
for the launch. As they tugged away to get her 
into deep water, the lantern was coming nearer 
and nearer through the trees, and finally they 
heard the angry cry of the bearer of the light and 
the swift beat of feet on the crunching gravel. 

"Quick!" cried Bob. "Jump in!" Both boys 
sprang over the side of the launch, which now 
floated in the deeper water. The moon had been 
obscured by a cloud, and Charles had to feel for 
the wheel and lever to start the little engine. The 
three men were running down the beach, shout- 
ing hoarsely, and had nearly got to the water's 
edge when the propeller of the launch began 
to buzz, and foam boiled up in the broadening 
wake. 

"Come back here!" shouted one of the men, 
frantically running into the water. 

"Stop or I 'll shoot !" cried another. Through 
the gloom the boys could see that one of the smug- 
glers had drawn a revolver. 


A CHANGE OF CRAFT 


I IQ 

''Get down behind the boxes/’ shouted Charles 
to Bob. "They ’ll follow us along the beach and 
take a shot at us.” 

The men were running along the shore, follow- 
ing the direction in which the launch was going 
at an ever-increasing speed; at last one of them 
stopped and took deliberate aim. 

"Don’t shoot !” cried the stocky man, knocking 
the other’s hand into the air. "We ’re caught 
here like rats and we don’t want to be taken for 
murder.” 

Bob, in the bow with his hand on the wheel, 
gave a sigh of relief as the craft drew swiftly 
away from the island. "Where shall I steer?” he 
asked. 

"I ’ll take her,” said Charles, crawling over the 
boxes. "We ’ll steer for those lights.” 

The launch pounded along over the black 
waters, and finally turned into the open Sound; 
but the boys were too excited to say much. Sud- 
denly Charles stopped the engine. "Listen !” said 
he. 

Behind them they could hear the pounding of 
a propeller in another boat. "They ’re chasing 
us !” cried Bob. "Start the engine again.” 

Once more they were ofif. "We ’ve got to race 


120 


SEA STORIES 


for it now/’ cried Charles ; ^They ’re after us, sure 
enough. You see, they carry no lights.” 

The launch now plowed along at her topmost 
speed, but it soon became evident that the other 
was gaining. 

'There ’s only one chance,” said Charles, ex- 
citedly, — "if we stop the engine they may go by 
us in the dark.” Already his hand was on the 
lever, and immediately the noise ceased, and the 
craft slid along silently through the black water. 
Voices on the other boat began to sound distinct. 

"They ’ve stopped their engine,” said one. 
"We ’d better take a look!” 

With a quick flash the beam of a search-light 
stretched out over the water like a long finger. 
It turned this way and that, and then suddenly 
settled on the launch with its two boys and its 
cargo of boxes. 

"Oh, we ’ve got ’em this time !” shouted a voice, 
and the blinding light began to come nearer. 

"It ’s all over with us,” said Charles, dismally. 
Bob was about to answer when the other craft 
slid alongside. She was thin and dark, and there 
was the muzzle of a machine-gun poking over her 
bow. 

"It ’s the Smuggler's Nightmare!” cried Bob. 



THE SEARCH-LIGHT TURNED THIS WAY AND THAT, AND THEN SUDDENLY 
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A CHANGE OF CRAFT 


123 


‘Why, they ’re nothing but boys!” exclaimed 
a bearded man in a trig blue uniform, more as- 
tonished than any one. 

“Give us a hand, please,” said Bob, “and I ’ll 
come aboard and explain.” 

To the revenue officer the boys told the whole 
story. He listened intently to all that they said. 
Every now and then he nodded and remarked: 
“Good work! good!” But when they explained 
how they had left the smugglers prisoners on the 
island, he chuckled heartily and slapped his knees. 
“This is splendid!” said he, finally. “I ’ll put a 
man into the launch with you so that you can go 
right home. You must be very hungry and tired. 
Of course we will have to go to the island for the 
men.” 

“If you should happen to see our boat, I wish 
you ’d pick it up — we shall miss her badly, sir,” 
said Bob. 

“Oh, I would n’t worry about your boat, young 
man !” said the officer. “There is enough reward 
for the capture of these smugglers to buy you a 
very respectable little cruising-yacht— cabin and 
all. And it seems to me very plain that these ras- 
cals are hot only caught, but held prisoners by 
your act. Now we must hurry a little.” 


124 


SEA STORIES 


Both the boys and one of the sailors got into 
the launch. ''Good night!’’ shouted the revenue 
officer. "Good night!” the boys answered joy- 
fully. 

Once more the naphtha-launch started on her 
journey toward the harbor, but this time instead 
of sneaking along she bore a light at her bow and 
carried two very tired and very happy passengers. 

"It is n’t so bad being becalmed, after all,” said 
Charles, when they had climbed up on to the 
wharf and were saying good night. 

"No, indeed!” Robert said heartily; "and we 
won’t really lose the Ready, either, for I took the 
bearings of a little cave she drifted into as we 
were coming out with the launch.” 


TOM TRAWLEY’S START IN LIFE 


BY W. J. HENDERSON 

T his suits me down to the ground!’' said 
Tom Trawley, enthusiastically. 

^Well, I don’t believe you ’ll think it ’s so very 
fine after you ’ve been at it for a month,” replied 
Johnny Slocum. ‘^Anyhow, you would n’t like it 
if you had to do it for a living.” 

'That ’s where you ’re mistaken, Johnny,” said 
Tom, earnestly; 'T ’d like anything that I could 
do for my living. All I want is a start in life. 
I ’ve had my share of hard knocks for a boy, and 
I think it ’s about time that luck turned and gave 
me a chance. Why, if I could go out there on 
that ocean every day and catch enough of these 
to make a living and save a little, I ’d be happy, I 
tell you !” 

Tom held up the splendid weakfish he was car- 
rying along the beach, and looked at it admir- 
ingly. Johnny was carrying one also, but he re- 
garded it with a grave lack of interest. 


125 


126 


SEA STORIES 


‘T don’t think much of ’em,” he said; ''but 
you ’re easily pleased, Tom.” 

"Nonsense!” exclaimed Tom. "Why, just 
think, Johnny — what sort of a fix was I in when 
your father met me on that pier in New York? I 
had lost my father and mother, and I had n’t a 
relative, a friend, or a red cent. There I was 
a-wandering around the North River front, won- 
dering whether I could n’t get a job to go to sea 
as a cabin-boy, or something of that sort. I saw 
a man cleaning fish on the deck of a sloop, and I 
wondered whether I could n’t do that; and just 
then the man put down his knife and came ashore. 
I don’t know what made him stop, but he did, and 
he says to me, 'Do you want anything, sonny?’ 
And I up and told him I wanted some work to do, 
to keep from starving. And he took me aboard 
the sloop, and told me I must n’t think of going 
to sea, and that I must come down here and fish 
a bit, and look around before I went to work — 
and— and — Johnny, you know all about it, as well 
as I do — how good your father was to me. And 
now you say I ’m easy to please ! But I suppose 
you never were really hungry, old fellow.” 

"Never really hungry? And you ’ve seen me 
eat cakes!” And Johnny broke into a hearty 


TOM TRAWLEY’S START IN LIFE 127 

laugh, which drove the serious look from Tom’s 
face and caused him to laugh, too. 

''But after all, Johnny,” he said presently, "I 
wish I could go to work.” 

"At what?” 

"Anything— fishing preferred. I tell you I 
like it. I like the sport, and I like to be out there 
on the sea, especially since you and your father 
have taught me so much about sailing a sloop.” 

"I see,” said Johnny; "you ’ll be sailing a sloop 
of your own some day, and taking your own fish 
to market.” 

"Oh, of course. It looks like it now, does n’t 
it?” said Tom, with a comical expression. 

Nevertheless, that night, as they were seated 
at supper, Johnny began to tell his father what 
Tom had said. Henry Slocum listened for a few 
minutes and then said : 

"Tom, that ’s a good idea.” 

"But how am I going to manage it?” asked 
Tom. 

"Well, I ’ll tell you,” replied Mr. Slocum. 
"You know the old dory that I picked up adrift 
last spring, Johnny?” 

"Yes, Father.” 

"Well, she ’s lying out behind the ice-house. 




128 SEA STORIES 

She ’s in good condition, except that she needs 
calking and a pair of oars. Now, Tom, I 'll lend 
you enough money to buy the oars and the stuff 
to calk her with, on condition that you take 
Johnny into partnership with you, and I 'll give 
the use of the boat free as Johnny's share of the 
capital." 

''But I 'm not giving anything at all; it is n't 
fair to you and Johnny," said Tom. 

"Oh, yes, it 's fair for everybody," answered 
Mr. Slocum. "You are giving the plan that you 
made up, and your services." 

"It only goes to show how good you are," 
mumbled Tom, with a flushed face. 

"That 's all right, Tom," said Mr. Slocum. 
"It does n't cost me anything to do this for you, 
and Johnny gets the benefit of whatever it 
amounts to." 

"Oh, does he?" exclaimed Tom, "you 're not 
doing it for that, Mr. Slocum, but from just good- 
ness to me." 

But no matter how or why it was done, the 
next day the old dory was formally turned over 
to the boys, and they went to work to calk her. 
They did not make as fine a job of it as they might 
have done had they been in less of a hurry to get 


TOM TRAWLEY’S START IN LIFE 129 

to sea, but they made her tight and safe. Johnny 
secured enough paint to give her a coat, and she 
was left over night to dry. 

''I Ve a fine old set of spars and a sprit-sail,’’ 
said Johnny, ''and when we get time we ’ll fit 
them to her; but for the present I think we ’ll 
have to get along with a 'white-ash breeze.’ ” 

"And why not? Is n’t a white-ash breeze 
enough for two strong men?” asked Tom, so seri- 
ously that he made Johnny laugh. 

"Men, eh ? All right, if you feel so. And say, 
Tom, I ’ve a beauty of a lobster-pot that I have n’t 
set lately. Let ’s take that with us to-morrow, 
and see if we can’t get a big fellow out on Turtle 
Back Reef.” 

"Good!” exclaimed Tom. 

The boys spent the evening in preparing their 
lines and other "fixings,” as Tom called them, 
and they went to bed early so as to be up before 
daylight. A good sea-fisherman wishes always 
to be through the surf and on his way to the 
grounds before the sun peeps over the edge of the 
waters. 

"Turn out, Johnny; it ’s seven bells in the 
mid- watch.” That was what Tom said as soon 
as he woke up. 


130 


SEA STORIES 


‘'My! You talk like an old salt/’ said Johnny, 
as he rolled out of bed. 

It was a glorious morning when the boys, hav- 
ing swallowed a hasty breakfast, started to push 
their patched-up dory down to the water’s edge. 
The sky in the east was all scarlet and rose-color, 
and the sea was like a lake of molten gold. 

‘T tell you this is great!” exclaimed Tom. 

The fisherman’s son was an expert surfman, 
and Tom himself was by no means a green hand, 
for he had been out fishing almost every day, ex- 
cept Sundays, for five weeks. So it was no diffi- 
cult task for them to get their dory out through 
the very gentle surf which was breaking softly 
and lazily on the long outer bar that morning. 

“Now, Tom, which way?” 

“To Turtle Back Reef to set the lobster-pot, of 
course; and after that we will try our luck with 
the lines.” 

So Johnny bent his back to the oars, and away 
they glided out to the eastward as if they were 
trying to hit the spot where the sun was just com- 
ing up, a great, luminous, orange-colored ball. 
The lobster-pot was set in a spot which Johnny 
found by certain bearings on the shore. 

“Yes,” said Tom, “I know the bearings myself 


TOM TRAWLEY’S START IN LIFE 131 

now— when the spire of the Methodist church is 
in line with the big cedar-tree to the northward 
and the tower on Mr. Billings’s cottage between 
the two oaks on Signal Mound to the southward.” 

^^That ’s right,” said Johnny; ^det her go!” 

And Tom “let her go.” Next the boys pulled 
away to the southward, and were soon in the mid- 
dle of a fine school of bluefish. Their arms fairly 
ached with hauling in big fellows. 

“Why, Johnny!” cried Tom, “we will clear 
enough money out of to-day’s haul to pay for the 
oars.” 

“I believe we can !” answered Johnny. 

And the boys did it, too. The next day they 
had less luck, but they earned enough to pay for 
the calking. That night Tom, after considerable 
stumbling and hesitating, managed to say to Mr. 
Slocum : 

“I ’d like it, sir, if you ’d keep me here as a 
boarder now.” 

“Why, what do you mean? I have n’t said 
anything about turning you out, have I ?” 

“No, sir; but you see— you see— well, I ’m 
earning enough to support myself, and I— I don’t 
like to live on charity.” 

Mr. Slocum meditated a few minutes, but al- 


132 


SEA STORIES 


though he was only a rude fisherman he under- 
stood well enough how Tom felt, and liked him 
all the better for it. 

''All right,'' he said; "you see Mrs. Slocum 
about the price of board, and that 'll suit me." 

So Tom made himseH an independent youth at 
the rate of three dollars a week. But fishing is a 
very uncertain business, and Tom found that 
while he sometimes made five dollars in his week, 
sometimes he made only two dollars; so he did 
not have much to spare. He puzzled over the 
problem constantly, but -he did not see any way 
to get ahead. 

"Never mind," said Mr. Slocum, when Tom 
confided his troubles to him; "this business of 
ours is uncertain, but it has its ups as well as its 
downs. Why, the first September gale may bring 
your fortune ashore, Tom. Who knows?" 

Tom Trawley shook his head as he walked 
away ; for he was not much of a believer in luck, 
even when he had been what many would have 
called lucky. He was unflagging in his industry, 
however, and he always had enough money to pay 
his board, though he did not have any but his 
rough suit for Sunday. The summer was draw- 
ing to a close, and the weather was hot and dry. 


TOM TRAWLEY’S START IN LIFE 133 

The boys were as brown as berries, and their 
muscles were like hard rubber. Tom had never 
felt so well in his life; and one morning, as 
they were going out through the surf, he ex- 
claimed : 

^T suppose it ’s foolish for me to say so, but I 
believe somehow that we Te going to strike luck 
to-day.’’ 

‘Well, I don’t know that there ’s anything to 
complain of. We ’ve been doing well enough.” 

“Oh, I mean something big !” 

Less than an hour later, Tom’s prediction was 
verified in a strange way. The heavy line which 
the boys kept over the side for big fish tightened, 
and they hauled it in — or perhaps it would be 
nearer the truth to say that they tried to haul it 
in. 

“Goodness !” exclaimed Tom, “I must have the 
whole reef on the end of this line !” 

“No! it ’s a fish!” cried Johnny; “I can feel it 
jerk.” 

“Maybe it ’s a porpoise!” gasped Tom. 

“Hullo! The line’s broken!” 

“No ! It ’s the fish— it ’s coming up— it ’s com- 
ing right at the boat !” 

“Oh! Look!” 


134 


SEA STORIES 


‘Whew!— it a shark T 

“A big shark!’’ 

“Hit him, Johnny!” 

“Where ’s the boat-hook?” 

“Lookout! He ’ll upset us!” 

The maddened shark, coming up just beside 
the boat, looked terrible, and thrashed about in a 
most alarming way. But when Johnny drove one 
of the oars into its open mouth, the great fish 
turned, threw up its tail, and striking the water 
fiercely, causing a loud report, it turned and dis- 
appeared, taking the heavy hook and line with it. 

The two boys dropped upon the seats in their 
dory, and looked at each other in silence and with 
serious faces, while they panted after their ex- 
ertions. 

Finally Johnny began to laugh. 

“I don’t see anything funny,” said Tom. 

“You said we were going to strike something 
big, Tom; and we struck something just a little 
too big!” 

Tom smiled, and said: 

“Let ’s get back to business. We have n’t set 
the lobster-pot to-day yet.” 

“No, that ’s so.” 

“What do you say to putting it on the Bass 


TOM TRAWLEY’S START IN LIFE 135 

Rocks? We have n’t had much luck with it on 
Turtle Back lately.” 

‘Tt ’s a long pull out to Bass Rocks.” 

^Well, we can take turns.” 

''All right; here goes.” 

The Bass Rocks were seven miles offshore, and 
were buried at a depth of twelve fathoms. They 
were a famous feeding-ground for lobsters. 

The boys beguiled the time with conversation 
as they rowed out. Suddenly Tom stopped in the 
middle of a sentence and exclaimed : 

"Hullo!” 

"What ’s the matter now?” asked Johnny. 

"You ’re a fine fisherman!” said Tom; "the 
south wind has dropped right out.” 

"So it has,” said Johnny; "and the western sky 
says we ’re going to have a squall.” 

"Yes, and it ’s going to be a stiff one, too.” 

"Well, we can stand it, I guess, in this boat.” 

If the boys had been older seamen, they would 
have felt more uneasiness, for the scene was one 
to bring anxiety to an experienced man. The 
southerly breeze had, indeed, ceased to blow, leav- 
ing the air still, heavy, and oppressive. The sea, 
which a short time before had been dotted with 

tiny whitecaps, now ran under the boat in long, 
8 


136 


SEA STORIES 


undulating folds of dark, oily blue. Away in the 
northwest over the land, which was now only a 
low, faint line to the boys’ eyes, was a heavy, black 
cloud, which was rising and spreading very fast. 
Its upper edge was fringed with ragged patches 
of ashen-gray vapor, which appeared to roll over 
and over as they advanced with alarming rapid- 
ity. From the lower edge of the cloud hung what 
looked like a curtain of thin bluish mist, and 
through this occasional flashes of lightning could 
be seen. 

^'It ’s going to be a great blow,” said Johnny, 
“but I think the wind is ahead of the rain, so it 
won’t last long.” 

“Do you think you can keep her head to the 
seas when it gets to blowing?” asked Tom. 

“I don’t know ; but it ’ll be safer to make a drag 
and let her ride to it.” 

“Well, we ’ve got the lobster-pot aboard,” said 
Tom ; “and that and an oar will make a fine drag.” 

“That ’s so. Let ’s fix it right away.” 

They got the lobster-pot over the bow, and 
made its buoy-line fast to the painter. Then they 
lashed one of the oars to it, and, returning to the 
stern, awaited the squall. It was not long com- 
ing. Soon they heard a faint, moaning sound in 


TOM TRAWLEY’S START IN LIFE 139 

the northwest, followed by a low hissing. The 
sea in that direction became all white, and the 
patches of gray vapor swept over their heads at 
a terrific speed. The next moment the wind 
struck the dory, and low as she was on the water, 
it heeled her over so that the boys instinctively 
seized the gunwale. Then the dory swung 
round behind her drag and pointed her nose to 
windward, and the boys breathed more freely. 
The wind shrieked like scores of steam-whistles, 
and the sea rose with frightful rapidity. The 
long oily folds were quickly torn into ragged, 
foaming ridges, over which the boat leaped and 
plunged in mad dizziness. Tom had been out in 
choppy weather, but never in anything like this; 
and sometimes as the dory dived into the hollows 
he held his breath, expecting that she would go 
under. But the drag sturdily kept her head to 
the waves, and a dory will ride out even a bad 
gale, if you let her alone. 

The squall raged for nearly an hour, and the 
rain poured in torrents. The boys were soaked 
to the skin, and were compelled to bail out their 
boat to keep her from becoming too heavy with 
her load of rain. 

But at the end of two hours, they saw, to their 


140 


SEA STORIES 


relief, a white light spreading along the sea ahead 
of them. 

'The squall ’s breaking!'' shouted Johnny into 
Tom's ear. 

'T wonder where we are," cried Tom. 

"That 's hard to tell," replied Johnny; "we 
must have drifted a long way." 

There was nothing to do but to wait till the 
squall had passed. The sky became brighter in 
the northwest and soon the black clouds fled to 
the southeastward, and the wind fell to a gentle 
westerly breeze. The dory was far out of sight 
of land, and was still tumbling about on a very 
rough sea. Johnny looked anxiously all around 
the horizon. 

"A sail!" he cried; "we are safe!" 

Looking in the direction in which Johnny 
pointed, Tom saw a schooner under a double- 
reefed mainsail and jib. 

"She 's coming this way !" he cried. 

"Yes— no; she 's going about!" 

"No ; there she goes about again." 

"Now she 's all in the wind." 

"There must be something wrong, or else she 
would n't twist about so wildly." 

"Wait; let us see what she will do next." 

The schooner was sailing in a most remarkable 





NEARING THE SCHOONER 


TOM TRAWLEY’S START IN LIFE 143 

manner, and the boys watched her with puzzled 
faces. 

“I know what ’s the matter!’’ cried Tom, sud- 
denly; ‘There ’s no one steering her. She ’s 
deserted 1” 

An abandoned vessel! The very thought was 
full of gloomy suggestion. Here was a genuine 
mystery of the sea. Whence had she come? 
Whither had she been going? Where were those 
who had left port in her ? 

“Johnny,” said Tom, suddenly, “I have an 
idea.” 

“What is it?’’ 

“We can’t go drifting around out here in this 
dory. Night will come on before we can get 
back to shore, and we may be run down and 
drowned.” 

“That ’s so,” said Johnny. 

“Then let us board that schooner.” 

“What ! Board a deserted vessel ?” 

“Certainly. Let us board her and sail her to 
the harbor inside the point.” 

“Do you think we can do it?” 

“I don’t know why not. She has sails set — not 
enough for fair weather, but enough to keep her 
going; and we ’re good enough sailors to steer 
her.” 


144 


SEA STORIES 


‘'Let 's try it \” exclaimed Johnny. 

Working with a will, the two boys soon had 
their drag aboard and their oars once more in the 
rowlocks. The sea was still very rough, and the 
wind was freshening up from the southwest. 

The queer movements of the schooner taxed 
the ingenuity of the boys, but finally they drew 
near to her, and watching for a good opportunity, 
when she was shaking in the wind, they dashed 
alongside and Tom sprang into the lee main- 
chains with the dory’s painter. Johnny was soon 
aboard, and the dory was made fast astern. The 
boys then turned to survey the deck. It was evi- 
dent that the schooner had been through a rough 
experience. Her sheets and halyards were all 
uncoiled, and were streaming along the deck in a 
mass of confused lines. 

“Oh, look here!” cried Tom, as he bent over an 
object in the lee scuppers. 

“What is it?” asked Johnny, picking his way 
across the rolling deck. 

“A man’s coat!” exclaimed Tom. 

“Do you suppose the man fell overboard?” 

“Yes— or escaped with the rest of the crew.” 

“Why, of course,” said Johnny. “She has no 
boat here ; her crew must have escaped in it.” 


TOM TRAWLEY’S START IN LIFE 145 

‘‘But escaped from what? The schooner seems 
to be in good condition/' 

“Maybe she 's sinking!" 

“She does n't seem to be settling very fast," 
declared Tom, very coolly; “anyhow, I mean to 
go below and see what things look like down 
there." 

“Go below?" exclaimed Johnny. 

“Yes, why not? Maybe there 's something to 
eat down there." 

“Yes ; and maybe this is all a trick and the crew 
is down there hiding and just waiting—" 

“Don't be silly! The crew would n't hurt us. 
There are n't any pirates around this part of the 
world." 

So saying, Tom started for the companionway 
leading to the cabin. Johnny followed with evi- 
dent reluctance. Cautiously Tom picked his way 
down the steps, trying in vain to peer into the 
darkness below. 

“Black as ink down there," he muttered. 

“Let 's go back," said Johnny; “I heard a 
groan." 

“Nonsense. It 's only the creaking of the 
schooner's timbers." 

He pressed forward^ and in a few momentvS 


146 


SEA STORIES 


stood in the cabin. Attempting to move ahead, 
he stumbled against a pile of something soft. 

‘What ’s this? Why, the whole floor is cov- 
ered with things \” 

“Tom,’’ exclaimed Johnny, “that time it was a 
groan !” 

“You ’re right,” said Tom, “there ’s somebody 
aboard here, sick or hurt.” 

He advanced, stumbling over the things on the 
floor, and called out: “Who is here?” 

Out of the middle of a pile of canvas and cloth- 
ing a strange figure lifted its head and shoulders. 
The boys started back as the figure spoke : “Ahoy 
thar ! What ship be ye, and w’ar bound ?” 

“We ’re two fishermen,” answered Tom, 
“blown ofifshore in the squall ; and seeing this de- 
serted schooner, we boarded her.” 

“Werry proper, werry proper! ’Cos w’y? 
Practically, the ‘Mary Ann Gumby,’ o’ Portland, 
are deserted, seein’ as how thar ain’t nobody 
aboard ’cept me, an’ I ’m a wrack mysel’.” 

“Are you sick?” asked Tom. 

“I ain’t wot ye might call sick, an’ I sartainly 
ain’t wot ye would stigmatize as wal. My ankle 
are sprained so bad I can’t stand up.” 

“Why, how did that happen, and why are you 
here alone?” 


TOM TRAWLEY’S START IN LIFE 147 

‘'Easy ^nough, as you might say. Help me over 
to one o’ them lockers an’ I ’ll tell you.” 

The boys stooped, raised the sailor in their 
arms, and carried him with great care across the 
cabin. 

“This ’ere schooner are bound from Phila- 
delphy to Portland, in ballast. That thar squall 
knocked this wessel onto her beam-ends, an’ at 
the same time throwed me down that ’ere hatch- 
way an’ made me a wrack. The rest o’ the crew, 
includin’ the cap’n, got a-skeert, thinkin’ the bal- 
last had shifted an’ the schooner war goin’ to 
sink; an’ they tuk the boat an’ rowed away, not 
stoppin’ to inquire whether old Hiram Huggins 
war alive or dead— which the same I are half-way 
atween ’em. An’ that are the whole o’ my story.” 

“Then the first thing for us to do is to bind 
up your ankle,” said Tom. “Is there any ice 
aboard ?” 

“There are a little in the ice-box, I guess.” 

Tom, following old Hiram’s directions, found 
the ice-box, and soon had some cracked ice bound 
in a towel around the injured ankle. 

“That ’ll ache a good deal at first,” said Tom, 
“but it ’ll take the inflammation out.” 

“Where did you learn that ’ere trick?” asked 
Hiram. 


148 


SEA STORIES 


“From my father/’ said Tom. 

“Is he a fisherman?” asked Hiram. 

“He ’s not living,” said Tom; “nor my mother 
either.” 

“I ’m truly sorry fur ye,” said Hiram. “It ’s 
hard to fight the world alone ; but you Ve got your 
start in life to-day, if ye know how to use it.” 

“How do you mean?” asked Tom. 

“Wot was ye goin’ to do aboard this ’ere 
schooner ?” 

“We meant to sail her into the harbor, six 
miles above our village,” said Johnny. 

“An’ so ye shall; an’ old Hi Huggins ’ll show 
ye how to do ’t. All ye got to do is to get me on 
deck an’ fix me comf’table w’ar I kin give ye or- 
ders. Do ye know anythin’ about sailin’ ?” 

“We ’ve both had a good deal of practice on 
my father’s sloop,” said Johnny. 

“Good! Did ye ever hear o’ salwage?” 

“Salvage?” 

“Yas, money paid fur savin’ a wessel from 
wrack. Now, ef you two boys sails this ’ere 
schooner into port, ye ’ll be intitled to salwage, 
an’ Hi Huggins ’ll testify to ’t.” 

“But you dl be entitled tp just as much as we 
are.” 


TOM TRAWLEY’S START IN LIFE 149 

‘Thar 'll be 'nough fur us all. This 'ere 
schooner is new an' wallyable." 

Without further talk the boys set to work to 
carry old Hiram Huggins on deck. The schooner 
was rolling so that it was not an easy job; but 
they accomplished it, and finally seated him near 
the wheel. 

“The seas must 'a' swep' her decks w'en she 
was on her beam-ends. I don't know how she 
come to right hersel', but she did," said Hiram; 
“fur w'ich the same I are truly thankful. Now 
let 's see. She are under double-reefed mains'l 
an' one heads'l. It are blowin' fresh, an' the sea 
are lumpy, an' we 're werry short-handed, our 
crew consistin' o' one wracked sailor an' two fish- 
boys off a sloop. We 'll let her canvas stay as it 
are. So one o' you take the w'eel an' let her go 
about nor'west till we sight the land, an' then we 
can tell w'ar we be." 

Tom took the wheel, and the sailor sat near and 
gave him hints as to the proper way to steer. 
Johnny went below, and, following directions 
given him by Hiram, found some cold corned- 
beef, some bread and pickles, and some cheese. 
With these and some cold water from the scuttle- 
butt they appeased their hunger. 


150 


SEA STORIES 


About dark they could make out a white light 
ahead of the schooner, and Johnny cried out : 

‘'Oh, I believe that ’s the lighthouse at the en- 
trance to the harbor 

After sailing on for half an hour, Johnny’s 
belief was found to be correct. In another hour 
and a half they were safe and at anchor. The 
next morning, before daybreak, Johnny was up 
and on his way home to let his father and mother 
know that they were safe. Mr. Slocum returned 
with his boy to the schooner, and insisted on tak- 
ing Hiram Huggins to his house till the sprained 
ankle was well. Mr. Brown, the village lawyer, 
in due time put in the claim for salvage, and to 
his great joy Tom found himself the possessor of 
$800. With this he bought and equipped a sloop 
and started a fish and oyster business. Such were 
his industry and economy that in five years he 
owned a large stand in the market of the neigh- 
boring city, and was fairly on the road to a com- 
fortable future. 

“Do you remember what I said the day of the 
squall?” Tom said to Johnny. “I said we’d strike 
big luck, and we did. That day gave me my start 
in life.” 


TAKING THE SCHOONER INTO PORT 







TOM TRAWLEY’S START IN LIFE 153 


''What ’s become of the 'Mary Ann Gumby?’ ’’ 
"Why, there she is, at the wharf, loaded with 
fish,” said Tom; "I Ve bought a half interest in 
her.” 

"Who owns the other half?” 

"Captain Hiram Huggins, of course.” 


A CITIZEN OF THE DEEP 


BY LIDA ROSE MCCABE 


O walk the bed of the deep as you or I walk 



X upon the land is the every-day life of the 
hero of this workaday story. It is over thirty 
years since Alfred Pahlberg made his first plunge 
as a diver. No man, it is said in diving circles, 
has spent more time at the bottom of the sea than 
this doughty Norseman. When a lad of seven he 
shipped before the mast. It was the dream of his 
boyhood to see the New World, amass a fortune 
there, and then go back and live out his life in his 
beloved land of the viking. How much of that 
dream came true, his is the story to tell. The life 
of a sailor thirty years ago, however rich in ad- 
venture, was no royal road to fortune. Two dol- 
lars and a half a month was all that the Swedish 
sailor boy could earn when he faced the New 
World to find the turning-point of his career 
aboard a schooner, engaged in hauling stones to 
build that marvel of the last century, the Brook- 
lyn Bridge. 


154 


A CITIZEN OF THE DEEP 


155 


‘The first time I dived/' said Pahlberg, “was 
ofif Race Rock Lighthouse, when Captain Scott 
was laying the bed-rock. I shall never forget it. 
I was scared to death. It felt as if I were being 
smothered between two feather-beds. I wanted 
to come up at once, but pride kept me down. I 
was afraid my companions would laugh at me 
and call me a coward." 

From two to four hours is the average time a 
diver stays under water without being hauled up. 
Pahlberg has often worked seven hours without 
signaling to be lifted. He knows of but one man 
who has beaten the record — his master outdid 
him by half an hour. 

“I am always ready," said Pahlberg, “to go 
down at any time, day or night, in storm or calm. 
When once the forty-pound iron helmet is fast- 
ened down tightly over the shoulders of the rub- 
ber suit, into which I slip through the opening in 
the neck ; when the weights of sixty pounds each 
are suspended from the chest and back ; when my 
feet are incased in iron shoes weighing twenty 
pounds each ; when the air-hose is fastened to the 
pipe in the back of the helmet, and I take the leap, 
I feel that my life is at the mercy of the man at 
the life-line. Yes, it 's dangerous; but so accus- 


SEA STORIES 


156 


tomed does the diver become to the peril that he 
rarely thinks of it/’ 

For eighteen years an old pearl-diver had the 
care of Pahlberg’s life-line. He went with him 



everywhere. He was an 
old man, and he knew 
the sea by heart, and 
never grew indifferent 
to his awful responsibil- 
ity. Since his death, 
however, Pahlberg ac- 
'cepts the service of any 
“life-liner” who may 


AT WORK AT THE BOTTOM OF happen to be at hand. 


THE OCEAN 


'When a diver first 


strikes the bottom,” Pahlberg said, in answer 
to my question, “it ’s like entering a dark room- 
all is densely black, then by degrees shapes begin 
to stand out, and soon everything grows distinct 
and familiar. 

“Like most divers, I prefer to dive at night. 
It is better for the eyes. Sudden passage from 
the dark of the bottom to the light at the surface 
of the sea is injurious to the sight. As soon as 
the helmet is removed, a bandage is put over the 
eyes for some moments. Without this precau- 
tion, sight might soon be destroyed.” 


A CITIZEN OF THE DEEP 


157 


One of the most curious, inexplainable things 
to divers is the fact that it is through the sense of 
touch, rather than that of sight, that they are able 
to identify objects under water. 

Before attempting to raise a vessel, the diver 
learns the class to which she belongs. The expert 
is familiar with every detail in the construction 
of all kinds of water-craft. He carries to the 
bottom in his mind's eye the picture of the sunken 
vessel, and when he finds her, he measures every 
part with his outstretched arms and hands. He 
can tell upon which side she lies, whether she 
struck fore or aft, and the nature and extent of 
her damages. Every fact he records in his mem- 
ory. It is his only tablet. When he signals to be 
hauled up he has almost as accurate and detailed 
a report to submit to the authorities as if hours 
had been spent in figuring it out upon paper. 

^^Only a very few vessels are wrecked nowa- 
days," said Pahlberg. “The average is thirty- 
five a year. More care is exercised of late years 
in the construction of vessels; then, too, light- 
houses have multiplied. 

“It is strange how the habits of childhood cling 
to a man," mused the old diver, with a twinkle in 
his wonderfully clear blue eyes. “I have never 
got over the habit of putting my finger, when I 


SEA STORIES 


158 

hurt it, into my mouth. Often, in blasting rocks 
or mending a hole in a vessel, I hit my finger. To 
ease the pain, I at once raise it to my mouth, only 
to be reminded that my face is hid behind the 
little iron-barred glass window of the helmet 
through which my eyes look out. The heavy 
gloves which we are obliged to wear from Octo- 
ber until April are very cumbersome, and make 
work slow and awkward. It is always very cold 
at the bottom of the sea, especially in winter. 
Before I put on my diving-suit, I dress in as 
heavy flannels as if I were about to go up to the 
Arctic regions, and, I tell you, they are none too 
warm. When the fiercest storm is raging above, 
we never know it below. The bottom is undis- 
turbed.'' 

Pahlberg has dived as deep as a hundred feet. 
He knows of but one diver who has gone deeper 
—his old life-liner, who had often dived one hun- 
dred and eighteen feet in pursuit of pearls. 

'The fish and I are pretty good friends," he 
continued. "Frequently in blasting rock I have 
killed small fish, which the larger fish would eat 
out of my hand. I have never been troubled with 
sharks. I have talked with divers from all parts 
of the world, and never met but one who had. So 


y 





PAIILBERG, THE DIVER, IN COMPLETE ARMOR, AND HIS “ LIFE-LINER 



A CITIZEN OF THE DEEP i6i 

persistently did a shark pursue that diver that he 
was forced to hide several hours in the cabin of 
a ship to escape him/’ 

Most of Pahlberg’s diving has been confined to 
the Maine coast and within a circuit of a hundred 
miles from New London, Connecticut, where he 
occupied a pretty land home, and lived in comfort 
with his grown-up family. Like all men whose 
lives are passed close to nature, the old diver is as 
simple and unaffected as a child. When not toil- 
ing at the bottom, he is with his family in the cozy 
home, rich in treasures rescued from the sea. 
Ships, full-rigged brigs, cleverly carved out of 
wood and painted by his own hands and mounted 
in deep glass-covered frames, adorn the walls, 
while no other man in the world, perhaps, has just 
such a library as this Swedish diver. It consists 
of some fifty-two volumes, all of his own writing. 
They contain the record of the hours, covering 
quite twenty years, that he has lived at the bottom 
of the sea. During the first year he noted the 
oddities of the deep, the queer fish and vegetation, 
and the impression they made upon him; but as 
he grew familiar with old ocean’s secrets, he 
ceased, unhappily, to record his experiences, and 
the later volumes are confined almost wholly to a 


SEA STORIES 


162 

record of place, ship, days, hours of toil, and earn- 
ings. At first he wrote in Scandinavian, but as 
he acquired English his mother-tongue was dis- 
carded. Often has the master diver importuned 
his master disciple to make a copy of that unique 
and wonderful record of unrivaled endurance 
with the under waste of waters. 

“Some day I will go over the books,’’ smiles the 
old diver. “They will tell to within a very few 
hours how much of my life has been lived under 
water.” 

He could not recall a day in twenty-seven years 
that he had failed to dive. Allowing five hours 
to a day,— and he does not hesitate to assert, 
without consulting his record, that the average 
will far exceed that, — the hero of this workaday 
story has lived, to date, at the bottom of the sea 
some 50,000 hours— equal to 6250 days of eight 
hours each, or nearly twenty-one years of the 
average working-days. 


GREAT OCEAN WAVES 


BY W. J. HENDERSON 

E very winter when the captains of ocean 
steamers coming into port relate their ex- 
periences with the boisterous Atlantic, we read 
about vessels meeting with certain especially large 
waves, which do a great deal of damage. Usually 
the paragraph in the morning paper reads some- 
what like this: 

'The Steamship 'Van Brunt’ arrived yesterday 
after an exceedingly rough trip of fourteen days from 
Southampton. Capt. Fisher says that in his twenty- 
two years’ experience he never encountered such 
weather. On Jan. 23, in latitude 47° 22' north and 
longitude 38° 56' west, the ship was struck by a tidal 
wave, which bent in her forward turtle-back, carried 
away her starboard fish-davit, and threw John Finley, 
seaman, aged forty-three, against the starboard rail, 
breaking his leg and inflicting internal injuries. The 
remainder of the voyage was without striking inci- 
dent.” 

At other times the paragraph reads more 
nearly in this style : 

163 


SEA STORIES 


164 

“The steamer ‘Barbaric’ arrived yesterday after a 
remarkably quick winter passage. She left Queens- 
town on Jan. 27 at 4 p. m., and reached Sandy Hook 
yesterday at 4 o’clock. This makes her actual time 6 
days 19 hours. On Jan. 30, in latitude 43° 50' north 
and longitude 49° 20' west, in perfectly clear and 
smooth weather, the ship was struck by an enormous 
tidal wave, which threw her nearly on her beam-ends, 
smashed in her port rail, and bent the heavy stanchions 
as if they had been pins.” 


No v^inter goes by without the publication of 
such reports, and naturally we come to believe 
that tidal waves are common occurrences at sea. 
In the face of these repeated statements by steam- 
ship captains it may seem audacious to declare 
that there is no such thing as a tidal wave; but 
that is the fact. That is to say, it is a fact that 
there is no such thing as a tidal wave in the com- 
mon meaning given to those words. The tidal 
wave is a slow, small, mild, and beneficent move- 
ment of the waters, and is absolutely impercepti- 
ble in mid-ocean, where such dreadful doings are 
credited to it. 

There are four kinds of waves at sea, called 
wind waves, storm waves, earthquake waves, and 
tidal waves; and it is always one of the first two 


GREAT OCEAN WAVES 


165 


that does the damage to ships. First, then, let us 
dismiss the foolish misapplication of the title 
^^tidal wave.’’ 

The tidal wave, as its name implies, is caused 
by the passage of the tide. It is simply a vertical 
displacement of the entire body of water on one 
part of the earth, and not a mere local disturbance 
of the surface. As Captain Lecky has stated it 
in his ^‘Wrinkles in Practical Navigation,” “The 
general motion of the tides consists in an alter- 
nate vertical rise and fall, and horizontal flow and 
ebb, occupying an average period of half a lunar 
day, or about 12 hours and 25 minutes. This 
vertical movement is transmitted from place to 
place in the seas, like an ever-recurring series of 
very long and swift waves.” When it is high 
water on one side of the earth, it is high water on 
the other side ; and at the points half-way between 
it is low water. If the reader will look at the dia- 
gram he will understand this more readily. The 
shaded part represents the earth, and the un- 
shaded part the ocean waters. At A and A it is 
high tide, while at B and B it is low tide. The 
elevations marked A are the tidal waves, and they 
are continually passing around the earth, one of 
them being under the moon, and the other at the 


i66 


SEA STORIES 


point opposite. The action of the moon and the 
sun in producing the tidal waves need not be dis- 
cussed here. All that I desire to 
establish is a correct understand- 
ing of what a tidal wave is. Now, 
as the moon passes around the 
earth once in twenty-five hours 
and the earth is about 25,000 
miles in circumference, the tidal 
wave travels 1000 miles an hour. 
This is its actual rate of speed in the open sea; 
but where land impedes its progress it moves 
much more slowly, sometimes making no more 
than fifty miles an hour. You understand, of 
course, that this tidal wave is what we com- 
monly speak of as the rise and fall of the tide. In 
mid-ocean its height is about four feet. In land- 
locked seas it is less. In some bays, however, 
where there is a wide opening directly in the 
course of the advancing or receding tidal wave, 
the rise and fall is much greater. Chepstow in 
the Bristol Channel, Mont St. Michel in the Gulf 
of St. Malo, Dungeness Spit, near Cape Virgins, 
and the Basin of Minas at the head of the Bay of 
Fundy, are mentioned by Captain Lecky as places 
famous for great rise and fall. In the last-named 




IN mid-ocean; a great wave 


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GREAT OCEAN WAVES 


169 


place it sometimes amounts to seventy feet. No 
one ever hears of tidal waves on the Lakes; yet 
they are there. That of Lake Michigan has been 
carefully measured, and found to be inches 
high. The only sort of wave having dangerous 
characteristics that are caused by the tide is what 
is known as a “bore.’’ This is an advance of the 
tide up the river in the form of a breaker. It is 
caused by the resistance of the rapid river cur- 
rent, confined between its banks, to the body of 
water advancing from the ocean. 

Now we come to wind waves, which, as the 
reader will readily understand, are caused by the 
action of the wind on the surface of the water. 
Water is but slightly compressible, and the wind 
blowing against the surface makes an indenta- 
tion, causing an elevation elsewhere. The harder 
the wind the deeper the indentations and the 
higher the waves. Lieutenant Qualtrough, in his 
excellent “Sailor’s Handy-Book,” says: “Many 
attempts have been made to construct a mathe- 
matical theory of wave motion, and thence to de- 
duce the probable behavior of ships at sea.” The 
modern theory is called the trochoidal, a name 
derived from a curve called the trochoid, which 
curve is supposed to represent the profile of the 


170 


SEA STORIES 


perfect wave. ‘Xet it be supposed/’ says Lieu- 
tenant Qualtrough, 'That, after a storm has sub- 
sided, a voyager in mid-ocean meets with a series 
of waves, all of which are approximately of the 
same form and dimensions; these would consti- 
tute a single series such as the trochoidal theory 
contemplates.” Of course, as the lieutenant takes 
care to point out, an ordinary seaway does not 
consist of such geometrically regular waves, but 
is made up of billows of varying form and dimen- 
sions. "But sometimes the conditions assumed 
are fulfilled; and from the investigation of their 
motions it is possible to pass to the case of a con- 
fused sea.” Many measurements and observa- 
tions of waves have,^ therefore, been made. "The 
longest wave observed was measured by Captain 
Mottez, of the French navy, in the North Atlan- 
tic, and had a length of 2720 feet — half a mile 
from crest to crest.” A wave 1920 feet long was 
observed by Sir James Rose, and 1320 feet is the 
length which has been noted in the Bay of Biscay. 

All sorts of nonsense has been written about 
waves "mountains high.” The truth is that when 
a ship is plunging down the back of one wave and 
is at the same time heeled over till her rail is close 
to the water, the next wave looks as if it would 


GREAT OCEAN WAVES 171 

sweep completely ovef the vessel and therefore 
appears as big as a mountain. Lieutenant Qual- 
trough says: 'We find reports of heights of 100 
feet from hollow to crest, but no verified measure- 
ment exists of a height half as great as this. The 
highest reliable measurements are from 44 to 48 
feet — in itself a very remarkable height. Waves 
having a greater height than thirty feet are not 
often encountered.’’ The height of wind waves 
is governed by what is called the "fetch.” That 
means their distance from the place where their 
formation begins. Thomas Stevenson, author of 
"Lighthouse Illumination,” and father of the 
well-known writer of our day, Robert Louis Ste- 
venson, gives the following formula as applicable 
when the fetch is not less than six sea miles : "The 
height of the wave in feet is equal to 1.5 multi- 
plied by the square root of the fetch in nautical 
miles.” Let us suppose that in a gale of wind the 
waves began to form 400 miles from the ship you 
are on. The square root of 400 is 20, which mul- 
tiplied by 1.5 gives 30 feet as the height of the 
waves around the ship. 

Now, it is well known that in every storm there 
are occasionally groups of three or four waves 
considerably larger than the others. Captain 


172 


SEA STORIES 


Lecky is of the opinion that these are caused by 
the increased force of the wind in the squalls 
which are a feature of every big blow. Now, 
waves travel at a rate which is the result of their 
size. Waves 200 feet long from hollow to hollow 
travel about 19 knots per hour; those of 400 feet 
in length make 27 knots; and those of 600 feet 
rush forward irresistibly at 32 knots. Let us 
suppose, now, a wave 400 feet in length and 38 or 
40 feet high rushing along at 27 knots. It over- 
takes a slower wave making about 20 knots, with 
a height of 25 feet and a length of 200. The two 
seas become one, forming at the moment of their 
union an enormous wave. Just at that moment 
they meet one of those steamers called ‘^ocean 
greyhounds,’’ which, as every one knows, never 
slacken speed unless it is absolutely necessary for 
safety. She is butting into the storm at the rate 
of say eight knots an hour. She runs plump 
against a great wall of water which seems to rise 
suddenly out of the general tumult, rushing at 
her with a height of 45 feet or more and a speed 
of over 30 miles per hour. There is a fearful 
crash forward, accompanied by a deluge, and as 
the tons of water roll off the forecastle deck, it is 
found that damage has been done, and the officers 


GREAT OCEAN WAVES 


173 


on watch enter in the log the interesting fact that 
the steamer has been struck by a ''tidal wave/' 
Now let us consider the big sea which strikes 
the vessel in calm weather ; but before doing so I 
must briefly’describe the storm wave which I have 
mentioned. This can best be done by quoting di- 
rectly the words of Captain Lecky, who is my 
authority for most of the facts presented in this 
article. "On the outer or anticyclone edge of 
hurricanes the barometer stands abnormally high, 
indicative of great atmospheric pressure; whilst 
at the center or vortex the mercury falls unusu- 
ally low; and accordingly, there the pressure is 
least. Between the center and outer edge a dif- 
ference of five inches in the height of the mercury 
has been recorded; equal to a difference of pres- 
sure of 354 pounds on the square foot of surface 
at these two places. It will readily be seen that 
the effect of this encircling belt of high pressure 
and internal area of low pressure, coupled with 
the incurving of the wind, is to produce a heaping 
up of the water under the body of the cyclone, 
whose highest point is necessarily at the center, 
where it is, so to speak, sucked up." And that is 
all that is meant by storm wave— simply the ele- 
vation of the sea's surface at the center of a cy- 


174 


SEA STORIES 


clone, which elevation advances with the storm. 
I may add that it has been known to cause wide 
and devastating floods. 

Earthquake waves, which are those most fre- 
quently misnamed tidal waves, arise from causes 
wholly different from those which produce the 
other varieties. Neither the winds nor the tides 
have anything to do with these waves. They are 
produced by subterranean convulsions, which lift 
or otherwise agitate the surface of the earth on 
the borders of an ocean, or the earth which forms 
its bottom, and so disturb the waters. When the 
upheaval of the earth takes place along the shore, 
it lifts the water up on its back, and the water 
running off leaves the bottom exposed for a long 
distance. Sometimes vessels which were at an- 
chor in bays before the upheaval are left hard and 
fast aground. Now the water forced off shore in 
this manner does not remain away. When the 
earthquake shock has passed, the water comes 
back, rearing up in a fearful wall, and forming a 
breaker of appalling size, which carries death and 
destruction in its path. I remember reading of 
an occurrence of this kind at the island of St. 
Thomas. The returning breaker was over forty 
feet high, and it broke inland, destroying much 



THE EARTHQUAKE WAVE AT ST 


THOMAS 





GREAT OCEAN WAVES 


177 


property and causing many deaths. So tremen- 
dous was this breaker that it landed a large vessel 
on a hillside half a mile from the harbor, where, 
I have been recently told, the wreck was still to 
be seen. But these breakers are always spoken of 
in the newspapers as “tidal waves.’’ 

If an uplifting of the earth should take place 
under the ocean, it would produce one of those 
big waves which vessels meet with sometimes in 
calm weather and which are always described as 
“tidal.” Strange things happen at sea. They are 
strange to us who pass our lives on land because 
they are beyond the pale of our experience and 
observation and we can not readily account for 
them. The ordinary sailor, while no more able 
to explain these phenomena of the great deep than 
the landsman, becomes familiar with them and 
they do not astonish him. Even a new wonder at 
sea does not astound the sailor as it does the lands- 
man, because the former knows that the ocean is 
the home of strange mysteries. Captain Lecky, 
in speaking of the effect of submarine shocks at 
sea, says : “In one instance which came under the 
writer’s observation, the inkstand on the captain’s 
table was jerked upward against the ceiling, 
where it left an unmistakable record of the occur- 


178 


SEA STORIES 


rence; and yet this vessel was steaming along in 
smooth water, many hundreds of fathoms deep. 
The concussions were so smart that passengers 
were shaken off their seats, and, of course, 
thought that the vessel had run ashore. When 
the non-elastic nature of water is considered, 
there will be no difficulty in understanding how 
such an effect could be produced.’’ If you wish to 
try a little experiment which will illustrate this, 
simply fill a dish-pan with water and either rap 
smartly on its bottom or bend the bottom inward. 
You will see how the surface of the water is dis- 
turbed by this earthquake upheaval of the bottom. 
This is similar to the effect produced by a subter- 
ranean convulsion under the sea. Yet when one 
of these earthquake waves comes along and does 
damage, the harm is laid to the credit of the “tidal 
wave,” which is a harmless and indeed beneficent 
provision of nature. Even the newspapers, in 
speaking of a political candidate who is defeated 
by an overwhelming majority, say that he has 
been engulfed in a “tidal wave.” And the sea- 
captain, who ought to know better, reports to the 
hydrographic office that away out in latitude and 
longitude something or other, his vessel was 
struck by a “tidal wave.” Whereas the truth is 


GREAT OCEAN WAVES 


179 


that, in a storm, ninety-nine times out of one hun- 
dred it is simply an unusually large wind wave 
which strikes the ship, and the one-hundredth 
time it is caused by an earthquake. In calm 
weather it is always the earthquake wave. 


10 


THREE SHIPS 


BY HARRIET F. BLODGETT 

T hree ships there be a-sailing 
Betwixt the sea and sky ; 

And one is Now, and one is Then, 

And one is By and By. 

The first little ship is all for you — 

Its masts are gold, its sails are blue, 

And this is the cargo it brings : 

Joyful days with sunlight glowing. 

Nights where dreams like stars are growing. 
Take them, sweet, or they dl be going. 

For they every one have wings. 

The second ship it is all for me — 

A-sailing on a misty sea 

And out across the twilight gray. 

What it brought of gift and blessing 
Would not stay for my caressing. 

Was too dear for my possessing. 

So it sails and sails away. 

z8o 


THREE SHIPS 


i8i 


The last ship, riding fair and high 
Upon the sea, is By and By. 

O Wind, be kind and gently blow ! 

Not too swiftly hasten hither. 

When she turns, sweet, you ’ll go with her — 
Sailing, floating, hither, thither — 

To what port I may not know. 


THE VOYAGE OF THE ^^OREGON’’ 


BY TUDOR JENKS 

B efore the battleship “Maine’’ was sent to 
the harbor of Havana, the more prudent 
statesmen at Washington had begun to make 
plans for a possible war with Spain. They had 
looked over their maps and books to determine 
where the ships of war should be stationed, and 
how they were to be brought where needed. 

The “Oregon,” a battleship of the best type, 
like the “Indiana,” “Iowa,” and “Massachusetts,” 
was known to be in Puget Sound, at the extreme 
northwestern corner of the United States ; and it 
was believed that it might be wise to have her 
join the fleet in the Atlantic Ocean. The Ore- 
gon was the first battleship built on the Pacific 
coast, and had never been in the Atlantic. She 
was launched at the Union Iron Works, San 
Francisco, in October, 1893, and was ready for 
service July 15, 1896. Though the fastest of bat- 
tleships, and a seaworthy boat, it had been found 

182 


THE VOYAGE OF THE “OREGON” 183 

that she rolled too much, and to correct this 
fault she was sent to the dry-dock in Puget 
Sound to have extra keels— “bilge-keels”— fitted 
to prevent the rolling motion. 

When the news came of the sinking of the 
Maine during the night of February 15, it was at 
once decided to replace her by an even stronger 
man-of-war; and next morning, when the Ore- 
gon left her dry-dock, she was met by a light- 
house-tender, that brought orders to “rush her 
coaling, and proceed at once to San Francisco.” 
In three days after leaving Puget Sound she had 
covered the 790 miles, and arrived in San Fran- 
cisco on March 9. 

The sailors worked day and night for the next 
ten days, and loaded the Oregon with a year's 
provisions and about 1500 tons of coal. By this 
time the captain knew of the great voyage he was 
to make, and everything was done to put the ship 
in perfect condition. 

Saturday, March 19, at eight in the morning, 
the Oregon steamed out of the Golden Gate to 
begin the greatest voyage ever made by a battle- 
ship. It must be remembered that these vessels 
are built for coast defense, and are not considered 

adapted for ocean voyages. Indeed, one of our 
11 


SEA STORIES 


184 

congressmen not long ago predicted that ^^no bat- 
tleship could ever cross the Atlantic Ocean/’ 
Many believed that these heavy iron monsters 
would “turn turtle”— that is, capsize— when in a 
heavy sea. 

But if any men in this world know their busi- 
ness, the American navy knows theirs, and every 
officer and engineer and sailor and stoker on the 
Oregon rejoiced at the long voyage before them. 

While the President was sending word to Con- 
gress that he could do no more with the Spanish 
government by peaceful means, and while the 
commission of naval officers was learning that 
the Maine was destroyed by a mine placed below 
her keel, the Oregon was steaming ever south- 
ward through the Pacific, with a V of glistening 
foam parting at her white bow. For sixteen days 
her twin screws whirled her along, while the sun 
grew hotter, and the heat in the fire-rooms, where 
her men were feeding her furnaces full, increased 
until the thermometer read 161° ! Only one man 
was prostrated by the heat; and no sooner was 
he revived than he begged to be allowed to re- 
turn to the scorching work. Indeed, Captain 
Clark says that all the men were eager to work 
overtime, and would never admit they were over- 
come by their duties. 


THE VOYAGE OF THE "OREGON" 185 

On Monday, April 4, the Oregon arrived at 
Callao, Peru, having covered over four thousand 
miles in two days less than the time usually re- 
quired by the regular steamers. This voyage, 
longer than from New York to Queenstown, or 
nearly as far as to Naples, required about fifteen 
days. 

The Oregon had now only six hundred tons of 
coal aboard, and it was necessary to take on more. 
But the gunboat ''Marietta,” which was also on 
her way to the Atlantic, had been at Callao on 
March 31, and had ordered full coal-lighters to 
be ready for her big friend the Oregon; so they 
were alongside almost before the anchor was 
lowered, and the coaling began at once. Not only 
were the bunkers filled, but a deck-load also was 
taken aboard, and the battleship was made ready 
for a further journey of six thousand miles. 

Besides coal, the Oregon took on board a sup- 
ply of rumors about what the Spaniards might 
do. For one thing, a torpedo-boat was reported 
to be at Montevideo, intending to set out for the 
Strait of Magellan, where there was an excellent 
chance to lie in wait for our big white battleship 
and stab her with a torpedo. For another, there 
was a Spanish sailor aboard the Oregon, and 
there were hints that the Spanish residents at 


i86 


SEA STORIES 


Valparaiso meant, by his aid, to do terrible things 
when the Oregon should put in at that port; so 
the sailor was sent to New York on a mail- 
steamer. While at Callao, Captain Clark put a 
patrol of steam-launches around his vessel all 
night, gave the sentries ball-cartridges, and kept 
men ready at the small guns. It was a neutral 
port, but many Spanish sympathizers were about. 
He did n’t wish to take any chances of another 
Maine disaster. A single word cabled to Wash- 
ington, at a cost of five dollars in gold, had 
announced the Oregon safe so far, and Cap- 
tain Clark meant to keep her so throughout the 
journey. 

Thursday, April 7, the Oregon sailed, in a 
dense fog, ran by the city of Valparaiso one night 
without giving the Spanish residents a chance to 
carry out any plots they might have formed, and 
within nine days was off the Strait of Magellan, 
near Desolation Island. 

Entering the strait, the Oregon anchored for 
the night in a small bay, thirty miles inside. In 
the darkness a little fishing-vessel passed not far 
from the Oregon, and the Yankee sailors were at 
their guns quicker than the searchlight could be 
turned on the stranger. 


THE OREGON WAS STEAMING EVER SOUTHWARD THROUGH THE PACIFIC 




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THE VOYAGE OF THE “OREGON” 189 

At daybreak next morning she was under way 
again, making 165 miles in eleven hours, with her 
men at the guns, and cleared for action, ready 
for the torpedo-boat — which, as a matter of fact, 
was thousands of miles away. 

At half-past six in the evening the Oregon 
reached Punta Arenas (Sandy Point), a settle- 
ment devoted to selling coal and provisions, and 
stopped to coal— the men leaving their hammocks 
in the nettings, and sleeping about the decks in 
the short intervals of their hard work. The Ma- 
rietta arrived next day, with despatches she had 
brought from Valparaiso. These despatches 
showed that matters were coming to a warlike 
situation, and whenever a stranger vessel ap- 
peared thereafter, the sailors at once went to the 
guns, ready for trouble. 

At daylight on Thursday, April 21, the anchor 
was raised, and under light forced draught the 
battleship started through the strait, always on 
the keen lookout for the tiny torpedo-boat that 
was supposed to be lurking there like a coiled rat- 
tlesnake m a path. 

At the narrowest point, called the English Nar- 
rows, the channel is but half a mile wide; and 
here the speed was reduced, and all the sailors 


igo 


SEA STORIES 


peered about for the treacherous little foe— the 
only thing a battleship dreads. 

The scenery in the strait was superb — lofty 
snow-covered mountains, great glaciers coming 
to the water's edge, and inlets opening here and 
there. 

Once in the Atlantic Ocean, the great vessel 
gladly swung around and pointed her prow 
toward home — and Cuba. As yet the people on 
board knew nothing of what was going on be- 
tween America and Spain. They met two mer- 
chant steamers, but could hear nothing later than 
they already knew. And yet, while the Oregon 
was on her way to her next port, Rio de Janeiro, 
war had been declared; Dewey had set sail for 
Manila; the Spanish torpedo-boat 'Temerario" 
had left Buenos Ayres; and Spain's fleet, four 
cruisers and three torpedo-boats under Cervera, 
being ordered away by Portugal, had left the 
Cape Verde Islands. 

Our own people knew these things, and they 
were anxious about the Oregon, and also about 
the ^Taris," which was on her way from Eng- 
land to New York. 

From Callao to the Strait of Magellan and 
through to the Atlantic Ocean had taken eleven 


THE VOYAGE OF THE “OREGON^ 


igi 


days, the distance being more than 3000 miles, 
making about 8000 miles traveled by the Oregon 
since leaving Puget Sound. Now she was to sail 
more than 5000 miles before reporting for ser- 
vice at Florida. 

The bells rang, the propellers twirled, and 
northward started the great steel battleship, car- 
rying her thirty steel rifles and her 470 men to 
aid the American fleet. Her voyage northward 
was a most anxious time, with the daily outlook 
for enemies, and the monotonous round of hard 
work. 

April 30 was a momentous date. On that day 
the Paris arrived from England; the Oregon 
entered the harbor of Rio de Janeiro; and during 
the following night Dewey's squadron came into 
the Bay of Manila while the officers of the Span- 
ish fleet were dancing at a grand ball. 

The Oregon was saluted by the ships in the 
harbor of Rio, and the captain of that port 
boarded her. When the sailors learned from him 
that war had been declared, a mighty cheer went 
up. During their stay a Spanish gunboat tried 
to enter the port, but was promptly stopped by 
the Brazilians, who not only were neutral, but 
remembered what two American cruisers had 


SEA STORIES 


192 

done for them when Brazilian rebels tried to 
blockade their port. The Spaniard was com- 
pelled to remain until the Oregon, the Marietta, 
and the ^^Nictheroy’^ were well on their way. The 
Nictheroy had been bought from Brazil and is 
now an American man-of-war, being called the 
“Buffalo.’^ 

On May 3 these three vessels left within twelve 
hours of one another ; but as the Oregon had been 
ordered to make all speed, the others were soon 
astern, and she went on her way alone. It is said 
—perhaps the story is not true— that Captain 
Clark, upon receiving certain instructions from 
Washington, telegraphed: “Please don’t tangle 
me up with instructions; I am not afraid of the 
whole Spanish fleet!” 

The Oregon’s men had bought at Rio a lot of 
red ribbons, had stamped them, “Remember the 
Maine!” and wore them on their caps; and the 
ship herself, on entering the harbor of Bahia, put 
on her war-paint, and sailed in a dark-gray suit. 

Monday, May 9, she left Bahia, and on the 
second night out passed a fleet of vessels which 
she believed were the Spaniards. On May 14 the 
Spaniards were reported at Curasao, so it is 
hardly credible that the Oregon could have been 


THE VOYAGE OF THE “OREGON’^ 193 

near the enemy that night. With all lights out, 
however, she passed these vessels in the darkness, 
according to her orders, which were to “avoid all 
ships, and make for home.’’ 

She put into Barbados, flying a yellow quaran- 
tine-flag to keep off inquisitive strangers, and 
within sixteen hours was off again, at full speed, 
making 420 miles in twenty-four hours. Upon 
receiving a despatch announcing her arrival at 
Barbados, the Secretary of the Navy had given 
out to the nation the welcome news that the great 
battleship was safe. 

Jupiter Lighthouse, on the southeastern coast 
of Florida, was signaled on Tuesday the 24th, 
and again reported the Oregon to Washington. 
Two days later she anchored at Sands Key, off 
Key West— safe at home, after the longest voy- 
age ever made by a battleship. 

And what was her condition after her wonder- 
ful journey? Her officers reported: “All in good 
health; everything shipshape; no accidents; not 
even a hot journal!” After a stay at Key West 
long enough to fling the coal into her bunkers, 
she joined the fleet. They were drawn up in a 
wide semicircle, and she came sweeping into the 
midst of them at fifteen knots an hour, like the 


194 


SEA STORIES 


winner of a yacht-race, cheered by all the Jack 
Tars! 

As the Chicago “Times-Herald’' said, her voy- 
age was "'a triumph for any ship, and a wonder 
for a battleship.” Over 15,000 miles without a 
mishap, in fifty-nine days at sea, 'Through two 
oceans and three zones,” on the alert for an en- 
emy during more than half of the time — surely 
it is a marvelous record, and one not likely to be 
repeated. 

Do you know what it means ? A battleship has 
fully seventy machines on board, run by 137 
steam-cylinders. She is an enormous fortress, 
crammed with delicate and complicated machin- 
ery. To build her, sail her, care for her, and 
fight her requires brains, skill, care, honesty, for- 
titude— in short, all the Christian and a few pa- 
gan virtues. 

But the condition of the Oregon has been 
shown by actions speaking louder than words. 
From Key West to Santiago the big steel warrior 
went with the “New York” and a torpedo-boat, 
and made the trip at thirteen knots an hour, as 
steadily as a prize yacht. On the way the Ore- 
gon sighted smoke on the horizon, and started in 
pursuit. The fleeing stranger was soon over- 


THE VOYAGE OF THE “OREGON” 195 

taken, and it was then found that the battleship 
had been able to outrun a swift newspaper de- 
spatch-boat ! 

During the bombardment of Santiago’s forts 
the Oregon showed that her ship’s company could 
serve their guns as well as they had sailed their 
vessel; but it was not until Admiral Cervera’s 
fast cruisers came dashing out of the harbor that 
the eager Oregon was put on her mettle. 

It will be remembered that three of the Span- 
ish cruisers and the two torpedo-boat destroyers 
were soon driven ashore. But the “Cristobal 
Colon” was the fastest and newest of the enemy’s 
squadron, and, coming out last, she secured a 
good start while the Americans were smashing 
the others. Hunted by the “Brooklyn,” the 
“Texas,” and the Oregon, poor Cristobal Colon 
tried to discover a way to escape from the land so 
eagerly sought by the great Christopher whose 
name she bore. 

It would not have been surprising if the swift 
Spanish cruiser had shaken off all her American 
pursuers. But not only did the Brooklyn hold 
her place by the flying enemy, but the big Oregon 
and the Texas kept within range. 

It happened that the Oregon had been sta- 


SEA STORIES 


196 

tioned far to the eastward of the mouth of San- 
tiago harbor, and to reach the enemy she had to 
go farther than any other of our big vessels. 
She went ahead like a rocket, passing the little 
''Vixen,” the plucky Texas, the great Iowa, and 
joined the swift cruiser Brooklyn in chasing the 
Cristobal Colon. The Oregon had opened on all 
the Spanish vessels she passed, and did as much 
harm to the enemy as any member of our squad- 
ron; and when she had shown Admiral Cervera 
that she could keep up with the Brooklyn and had 
put one of her 13-inch shells into the Colon’s bow, 
the Spaniards gave up. There was no hope for 
them in a fight against the Oregon and the Brook- 
lyn; and our flag ship, the New York, was com- 
ing at full speed to join in the fray. 

You all know the end. The Cristobal Colon, 
like her companions, was run aground and sur- 
rendered, and the destruction of Cervera’s squad- 
ron was enough to warrant all the long cruise of 
the Oregon. 

If there had been a ship-canal between the 
Pacific and the Atlantic, it would have saved a 
month in bringing the Oregon to the eastern 
coast. There will be one. 

The Oregon’s magnificent behavior under her 
terrific trials of endurance is a matter of pride to 






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“the OREGON AFTER HER VOYAGE OF FIFTEEN THOUSAND MILES, 
JOINS ADMIRAL SAMPSON’s SQUADRON’’ 


»»»» 





THE VOYAGE OF THE “OREGON” 199 

every American, because it proves that every bit 
of work in her making, manning, and sailing has 
been done on honor and with skill. The Oregon 
shows us that not only have we brave men and 
skilful gunners such as fought in Manila Bay, or 
drove Cervera’s fast cruisers ashore; self-sacri- 
ficing and able sailors such as sunk the ''Merri- 
mac’’ in Santiago Channel; hardy, cool soldiers 
like the marines at Camp McCalla; regulars and 
volunteers such as never faltered in the storm of 
fire from the defenders of Santiago— but also 
honest workmen at home. The Oregon’s record 
says that America is sound at the core; that she 
has something fully as important as the ^^men 
behind the guns” — namely, the men who make 
the guns and the ships, and make them sound and 
fit for any work. 

It is no wonder that our ships, our guns, and 
our men are as good as the best, because from the 
men in the foundries to the admirals on their 
bridges, all work is done by honest, competent, 
patriotic Americans. 

So, if any should be reluctant to join in the cry, 
"'Remember the Maine!” there certainly is no 
man or woman, boy or girl, who may not say with 
genuine and heartfelt patriotism: "Remember 
the Oregon!” 


THE FLYING DUTCHMAN 

The frontispiece of this volume will recall to young 
readers the old legend of the Dutch captain who, 
homeward bound, met with long-continued head 
winds off the Cape of Good Hope, but who vowed 
that “he would double the cape and not put back, 
if he strove until the day of doom.” He is supposed 
to have been taken at his word, and to beat forever 
about the clouds in his phantom ship, but never to 
succeed in rounding the point. 

There are other versions of this story, and sev- 
eral important works of fiction have been based upon 
the legend. Perhaps the most notable of these are 
the libretto of Richard Wagner’s opera, “The Flying 
Dutchman,” and Captain Marryat’s novel, “The 
Phantom Ship.” 


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